FRESH   HEARTS 


THAT  FAILED  THREE  THOUSAND  TEAKS  AGO  ; 


WITH 

I 


OTHER    THINGS 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF 
"THE  NEW   PRIEST   IN   CONCEPTION  BAY." 

7^ 

«£ 


BOSTON: 
TICK  NOR    AND    FIELDS. 

M  DCCC  LX. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1860,  by 

,  TlCKNOR  AND   FIELDS, 

in  the  0  erk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


RIVERSIDE,   CAMBRIDGE: 
PRINTED  BY  II.  0.  HOUGHTON  AND  COMPANY. 


HAVING    from    childhood    met,   now   and    then, 
and  listened  to  the  Muse  of  Numbers,  the  writer 
offers   here   a  few  of  the  few  things  that  he  has 
learned,  at  different  times,  from   her,   and   hopes  / 
that   they  may  not   be  thought  too  many. 

Several  of  the  pieces  in  this  book,  he  does 
not  count  as  poetry ;  they  are  here  for  their 
religious  character;  some,  he  believes  to  have 
some  worth  as  poetry. 

Lest  the  dates,  put  to  most  of  them,  should 
be  thought  to  have  been  occasioned  by  a  con 
ceit  or  affectation,  it  is  right  to  say  that  they 
are  owing  to  a  friend's  discovery  of  a  remark 
able  chance-likeness  between  one  of  these,  printed 
years  ago,  and  a  recent  poem  in  a  Magazine. 
One  being  dated,  some  others,  at  least,  must 
be  so ;  and  in  the  end,  most  of  these  pieces 


have  had  the  time  at  which  they  were  written, 
given,  after  them.  The  general  reader  will  be 
kind  enough  to  pass  over  these  dates  as  harm 
less  ;  some  friends  may  even  find  a  slight  in 
terest  in  them. 

March,    1860. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

AN    ANTHEM-CAROL   FOR    CHRISTMAS vii 

FRESH   HEARTS    THAT    FAILED,    &C. 1 

THE   DAYS    OF    SIN 11 

THE    LITTLE    YEARS 14 

TURNING    LOVE    AWAY 17 

A    WALK   AMONG   MEMORY'S    GRAVES 20 

THE  PAINTER'S  PROBATION,  PART  i. 27 

THAT    DEAD 34 

THE   CHRIST    FORGOTTEN    IN   OUR    DAYS 36 

THE    CRY   OF    THE    WRONGED 41 

A    CHRISTMAS-SERMON 44 

THE   BISHOP   BOUND 51 

A    COMMUNING    WITH    GOD    BEFORE    ORDINATION-  •••  53 

THE    RELIEF    OF   LUCKNOW 56 

DIRGE  TO  A  SOUL  DEPARTING  61 

THE  YEAR  IS  GONE  ! 67 

BURGER'S  LENORE-    71 

THE  BARREN  FIELD 84 

CHRIST'S  LEGACY 87 

A    BURIAL-HYMN 91 


VI  CONTENTS. 

TO    GOD    MOST    HIGH 92 

LOVE    DISPOSED    OF 94 

TO    MY    OLD    PARISHIONERS 96 

THE    TEMPTER    AT    THE    SIDE 101 

A    RHYME    READ    BY   TWO    LOVERS 105 

THE    BRAVE    OLD    SHIP,    THE    ORIENT 114 


ERRATUM. 

IN  correcting  the  press,  a  mistake,  in  the  piece  entitled  "  The 
Little  Years,"  p.  14,  3d  line  of  verse  1,  was  overlooked.  Please 
read  caught  instead  of  met. 


AN   ANTHEM-CAROL  FOR   CHRISTMAS. 

OUT    of  highest   heaven   dropping, 
Like   tinkling   rain   upon    the    sea 
Came    sweet   music,    swelling,    stopping  ; 
'  T  was    the    angels'    symphony. 
"Glory   be   to    God,    on    high!" 
Ran   like   lightning    round   the    sky : 
Then,  like   rain-drops   fell    agen 
"  Peace   on    earth,    good- will    to    men  ! " 

1846. 


FRESH  HEARTS  THAT  FAILED   THREE 
THOUSAND    YEARS  AGO. 

THIS  little  tragedy  shaped  itself  in  my  mind  from  the 
suggestion  of  two  or  three  words  in  a  note  to  a  Greek 
Author,  as  I  remembered  them,  afterwards ;  a  poem  '  by 
a  boy '  (without  a  name)  was  mentioned  as  having  come 
down  from  earlier  times. 


FRESH    HEARTS 

THAT   FAILED    THREE    THOUSAND    YEARS   AGO. 


A  YOUTH  lay  near  the  fair  gulf's  *  fringed  shore  ;. 

The  noise  of  Corinth  scarcely  came  so  far  ; 

But  landward  sounds,  that,  when  the  day  is  o'er, 

Tell  where  blest  homes  and  ended  labors  are. 

On  the  broad  bay,  behind, 

Lugged  by  the  lazy  wind, 

A  freighted  ship  drew  on,  towards  the  evening-star. 

ii. 

0 

The  little  waters,  as  the  daylight  waned, 

Lagged  up  the  beach,  prattling  with  shell  and  stone  ; 


*  Of  Corinth. 

1 


2  FRESH   HEARTS    THAT   FAILED 

The  eastern  sky  was  all  with  sunset  stained, 

Where  the  two  heads  of  that  great  mountain*  shone. 

Lower,  each  vale  and  glade 

Drew  in,  to  deeper  shade, 

The  eye  of  him  that  gazed  from  that  far  shore  alone. 

III. 

Still  lay,,  brighfc-hued,  in  air,  both  far  and  wide, 
'All  crumbled  *rays  the  sun  had  thrown  away ; 
-Ancl;  4  floating  'thick  o_n  the  night's  dewy  tide, 
•Came  smells  more  sweet  than  scents  of  burning  day ; 
And  then  a  voice,  —  as  fair 
As  all  the  best  things  there,  — 

Scarce  startling  him  ;   old,  gentle,  sweet,  and  sad  as 
they :  — 

IV. 

•"  Thou  musest  of  the  gifts  that,  yonder,  wait 
Those  whom  the  Gods  do  choose  with  far-off  ken  : 
Castalia's  spell,t  and  the  rich,  dreamy  freight 
Laid  on  Sleep's  shore,!  for  favored  sons  of  men. 


*  Mount  Parnassus. 

t  Whoever  drank  of  the  water,  might  drink  the  divine  spirit  also. 
J  I  e   that  slept  upon   Parnassus,   in   waking  found   his   mind 
possessed  by  poetic  inspiration,  or  was  possessed  by  madness. 


THREE   THOUSAND    YEARS   AGO.  3 

/  sought  one  sacred  gift :  — 

Ah  !  Time's  waves,  strong  and  swift, 

Have   swept   bright  looks  and  hopes,  that  made  my 

world  glad,  then. 

v. 

"  Beside  a  pool,  where,  still,  two  olives  meet, 
Three-score    years    since,    some    Delphian  *    children 

played  : 

We  built  our  little  mole  and  launched  our  fleet, 
And  then  along  the  rippling  margin  strayed 
Watching  the  voyage  o'er, 
Till,  at  the  farther  shore, 
Our   galleys,   one   by   one,  on   the   safe   strand   were 

laid. 

VI. 

"Mine,  ever  mine,  was  foremost  in  the  race, 
Till,  tired,  our  little  maidens  sat  them  down, 
Whispered  apart,  —  then  sang :  —  one,  with  bright 

face, 
Said,  *  Let  our  poet  wear  a  Pythian  crown  !  ' 


*  The  city  of  Delphi,  where  was  the  great  temple  of  Apollo, 
stood  upon  the  mountain,  a  mile  or  more  from  the  foot. 


4  FRESH   HEARTS   THAT   FAILED 

They  wove  the  dark-leaved  beech, 
Each  helping,  hindering  each, 

Then,   in    child's    triumph,    all    turned    homeward    to 
the  town. 

VII. 

"  On  huge  Parnassus  hung  a  wondrous  cloud,  — 
"We  children  marked  it,  —  much  like  yon  fair  show  ; 
Again  Alcestis  spoke,  but  scarce  aloud, 
'At  times  the  mighty  Shades  do  gather  so. 
(So  did  my  mother  say;) 
They  come  not  in  the  day, 

But   in   still  night,  to   walk    the   high   woods   to   and 
fro.' 

VIII. 

"  Shades    of  the    great    old    Greeks    and    Barbarous 

men, 

Whoe'er  on  earth  had  loosed  some  mighty  song : 
At  times  by  night  they  wandered  here,  and  then 
What  poet  found  the  haunt  of  the  dread  throng 
On  that  far  mountain-height, 
Ere  dawn  was  lost  in  light, 
That  once,  plucked  fadeless  flowers  that  to  their  realm 

belong. 


THREE   THOUSAND    YEARS   AGO. 
IX. 

"My  heart  beat  quickly,  as  we  gazed  and  walked, 

For  they  had  all  praised  my  own  childish  rhyme ; 

Evadne,  too,  my  sister,  while  we  talked, 

Turned  her  full  eyes,  as  if  I,  child,  might  climb 

Up  to  that  haunted  land; 

Alcestis  pressed  my  hand 

As  if  she  felt  my  heart  throb  at  the  very  time. 


x. 


"  I  lost  our  Pythian  garland  in  the  road, 
While  we  walked  thoughtfully,  and  sometimes  spake. 
The  wondrous  cloud  with  the  last  sunlight  glowed, 
As  yon  cloud  lately  :  —  might  not  we  awake,  — 
We  three,  —  from  early  rest, 
And  on  the  mountain's  breast, 

Climb   with  fresh,  hopeful   hearts,   high   ere  the   day 
could  break  ? 

XI. 

"  Out  of  glad  day,  through  the  fair  porch  of  eve, 
Our  playmates  passed  into  the  halls  of  sleep. 
I  listened  long,  for  the  great  town  to  leave 
Its  noise  and  watchfulness,  and  long  rest  keep. 


6  FRESH   HEARTS   THAT   FAILED 

Then  faltered  forth,  to  gain 
The  great  god's  awful  fane, 

Scared  by  each  far,  lone  cry,  and  the  far,  conscious 
deep. 

XII. 

"  I  shrank  before  the  columns  cloaked  with  shade, 

And,  shuddering,  felt  a  fanning  of  great  wings  : 

I  dared  not  that  chill  presence  to  invade, 

Dim  with  dread  forms  of  gods  and  godlike  kings. 

I  gasped  my  childish  prayer : 

I  had  no  garland  there 

To  oifer,  as  men  vow  .their  gifts  and  glorious  things. 

XIII. 

"  Ere  that  fair  night  had  reached  her  highest  bound, 

We  met  and  grasped  each  other's  trembling  hand ; 

With  faltering  whispers  scaled  the  fearful  ground, 

Three  children  where  dread  rocks  and  huge  trees 
stand. 

On  high  the  broad  moon  rolled  ; 

And  her  rays,  white  and  cold, 

From  darkness,  here  and  there,  scarce  won  the  doubt 
ful  land. 


THREE   THOUSAND   YEARS   AGO.  7 

XIV. 

"  We  kept  a  torrent's  course,  and,  trembling  still, 
Went  on  and  on,  starting  and  stopping  oft : 
Sometimes  we  sat  and  wept,  as  children  will, 
And  my  cheek  felt  Evadne's,  wet  and  soft : 
1  Home  ! '  she  would  gently  say, 
'  Nay  ! '  said  Alcestis,  *  nay  ! ' 
And  still  we  clambered  on,  through  the  dread  w~oods, 

aloft. 

xv. 

"  Hours,  hours  went  on,  and  cold  and  darkness  grew : 

Still,  weary  and  afraid,  we  clambered  fast, 

And  dawn  began  to  gray  the  night's  deep  blue  : 

We  gained  the  upper  woods  !  —  The  way  was   past ! 

Now  need  we  only  seek 

Where  the  two  echoes  speak, 

Above,  below,  at  once,  to  find  the  flowers  that  last. 

XVI. 

"  Our  voices  faltered,  when  we  strove  to  sing : 
We  feared  the  trees,  the  rocks,  the  quivering  gloom  : 
At  length  we  dared  our  little  hymn  to  fling 
Through  the  thin  air,  where  shadowy  horrors  loom. 


8  FRESH   HEARTS   THAT   FAILED 

Lo !  at  the  earliest  sound, 
The  mystic  spot  was  found, 

And  there  a  high,  smooth  cliff,  crowned  with  undy 
ing  bloom. 

XVII. 

"  Great  characters  upon  the  rock's  high  face 

Slowly  we  saw,  in  the  dim  dawning  light ; 

*  MEN    THAT    WERE    MAKERS,'  *    far   up    we    could 

trace, 

And  then  their  names  that  had  the  Maker's  might ; 
We  thought  not  what  great  hand 
Had  made  those  names  to  stand : 
We  thought  that  at  the  foot  a  boy's  name  we  might 

write. 

XVIII. 

"  So,  with  weak  hand,  I  sought  to  print  the  stone, 

The  little  maidens  sitting  at  my  side. 

1  First,'  said  Alcestis,  '  make  the  flowers  thine  own  ! ' 

'Nay,'  said  Evadne,  with  a  sister's  pride, 

'  Let  our  young  poet's  name 

Stand  on  this  roll  of  fame  ! ' 

So  I,  with  hurrying  hand,  my  weary  labor  plied. 

*  "ANAPE2  IIOIHTAI-'  it  may  be  read. 


THREE   THOUSAND   YEARS   AGO. 
XIX. 

"  Slowly  the  dawning  grew,  and  slowly  I 

Now  wrought,  now  rested  ;  but  Alcestis  still 

Said,  '  Gather  first  the  blooms  that  hang  on  high  ! 

Day  will  be  here  ere  thou  this  task  fulfil : 

Yon  peak  sees  it  afar, 

And  yonder  shrinking  star ; 

First   gain   the    fadeless   flowers,   then   work    here    at 

thy  will.' 

xx. 

"Four  letters  rudely  in  the  stone  were  wrought, 
And  could  be  read,  'A  BOY,'*  but  yet  no  name. 
'  See,'  said  Alcestis,  t  how  the  peak  has  caught 
Already  daylight :  soon  't  will  be  a-flame. 
It  is  not  yet  too  late  ! 
Mount  where  the  bright  flowers  wait : 
Flowers  that,  when  thou   art  dead,  will  ever  be  the 
same  ! ' 

XXI. 

"  I  tried  the  cliff,  and  climbed :  my  hands  were  sore, 
And  I  was  tired :  yet  I  strained  up  the  height. 
The  little  maidens  shouted,  '  Yet  once  more ! ' 

*  'I1AI2-'  —  but  as  yet  no  name,  it  may  be  read. 


10  FRESH   HEARTS    THAT   FAILED. 

I  tried  :  I  tried  :  I  could  not  reach  them  quite. 
And  ah  !  behold  on  high, 
Ah  !  all  across  the  sky, 

The   day  was   come,  at   last,  and    dawn   was   lost   in 
light. 

XXII. 

"  My  tears  burst  forth  :  in  vain  my  sister  said, 
*  They  are  still  there  ! '  —  I  knew  it  was  in  vain. 
It  was  too  late.  —  Alcestis  hung  her  head. 
Sadly  I  came  down  to  the  earth,  again. 
'  Home  ! '  said  Alcestis,  now  : 
Evadne  kissed  my  brow ; 

And,  by  our  torrent's  course,  we  toiled  down  to  the 
plain." 

The  little  waters  trickled  down  the  beach, 

And  landward  sounds  fell,  faintly,  to  their  rest. 

The  dews  were  heavy,  and  that  sad,  soft  speech 

Had  ceased,  just  when  the  ear  had  liked  it  best. 

The  young  man  was  alone, 

And  great  cool  night  was  thrown 

Over  wide  earth  and  sea,  from  far  east  to  far  west. 

1858. 


THE   DAYS    OF    SIN. 

OH  mournful,  mournful  time ! 
I   prayed :    but    sin    was    there : 
Sin   crept   upon    my   prayer, 

And   made    my    prayer   a    crime ! 

I   prayed,  and   prayed   again : 
But   sin    was    in    it    still ! 
It   throttled   my   weak    will; 

I    struggled  —  but   in   vain. 

I    burned    by   day    and    night, 
I   feared    that   fire    of  sin  — 
Its    covering   seemed   so    thin  — 

Would    show    to    others'    sight ! 

My    daily  work    I    did,  — 

I   talked   of  Heaven    and    Hell, 
Full   often   and   full   well  — 

But   ah !    what   woe   I   hid ! 


THE   DAYS    OF   SIN. 

It   seemed   as   if  my   fate 

Were    up :    in    Satan's   mesh  — 
A  damned   soul   in   flesh  — 

I   lived   beyond   my  date. 

Christ's  life  in  me  seemed  lost ! 
Where  was  the  promise  now, 
Sealed  to  me  when  my  brow 

In   his   bless'd   sign   was  cross'd  ? 

I   strove   to   fly  from   me ; 

Always   it   was   the    same ; 

Hell   was   where'er  I    came ; 
God's    wrath   I   could   not   flee. 

Such  life  I  loathed  to  keep, 
But  could  I  dare  to  die? 
Heaven's  walls  so  hopeless  high, 

And   Hell   a   soundless    deep  ? 

My  heart  aye  told  me  well 
I  gave  myself  away, 


THE   DAYS    OF    SIN.  13 

To   be  the    Devil's   prey  — 
By   my   own    hand   I  fell. 

I   struggled  once   for   all  ; 

God's    altar  —  there    I   prayed  ; 

And   bitter   cry   I  made 
Behind  my   closet   wall. 

A   change   began   to    be ! 

I   felt   the   Breath   of  Life! 

For   Heaven   and    Hell  was    strife : 
I   struggled,  and   was   free ! 

Ah !    now   the    strife   was    done, 
I    sought   the    Flesh    and    Blood : 
I    ate    Salvation's   food ; 

My    soul   to    Christ   was    won. 

February  10,  1847. 


THE  LITTLE  YEARS. 

A  SONG  FOR  THE  ELDER  GRADUATES. 

THESE  years!     These  years!     These  naughty  years 

Once  they  were  pretty  things : 

Their  fairy  foot-falls  met  our  ears, 

Our  eyes  their  glancing  wings. 

They  flitted  by  our  school-boy  way  ; 

We  chased  the  little  imps  at  play. 

We  knew  them,  soon,  for  tricksy  elves  ; 

They  brought  the  college  gown ; 

With  thoughtful  books  filled  up  our  shelves, 

Darkened  our  lips  with  down  : 

Played  with  our  throat,  and  lo  !    the  tone 

Of  manhood  had  become  our  own. 

They  smiling  stretched  our  childish  size; 
Their  soft  hands  trimmed  our  hair  ; 
Cast  the  deep  thought  within  our  eyes 
And  left  it  glowing  there : 


THE    LITTLE    YEARS.  15 

Sang  songs  of  hope  in  college-halls, 
Bright  fancies  drew  upon  the  walls. 

They  flashed  upon  us  love's  bright  gem  ; 
They  showed  us  gleams  of  fame  ; 
Stout-hearted  work  we  learned  from  them, 
And  honor  more  than  name  : 
And  so  they  came  and  went  away, 
We  said  not  go  :    we  said  not  stay. 

But  one  sweet  day,  when  quiet  skies 
And  still  leaves  brought  me  thought, 
When  hazy  hills  drew  forth  my  eyes, 
And  woods  with  deep  shade  fraught, 
That  day  I  carelessly  found  out 
What  work  these  elves  had  been  about. 

Alas  !     Those  little  rogues,  the  years, 

Had  fooled  me  many  a  day  ; 

Plucked  half  the  locks  above  my  ears, 

And  tinged  the  rest  all  gray. 

They'd  left  me  wrinkles,  great  and  small :  — 

I  fear  that  they  have  tricked  us  all. 


16  THE   LITTLE   YEARS. 

Well,  —  give  the  little  years  their  way ; 
Think,  speak,  and  act  the  while: 
Lift  up  the  bare  front  to  the  day, 
And  make  their  wrinkles  smile  : 
They  mould  the  noblest  living  head ; 
They  carve  the  best  tomb  for  the  dead. 

July  20,  1858. 


[A  song  ought  to  be  capable  of  being  sung:  but,  somehow,  the 
author  of  this  has  just  fitted  it,  apparently,  carere  vate  sacro,  — 
to  go  without  its  melody.  He  has  been  informed  of  several  com 
posers  (whose  touch  was  an  honor  to  it)  that  have  tried  to  set  it 
to  music,  and  have  not  been  satisfied  with  the  result.] 


TURNING  LOVE   AWAY. 
(LONG  YEARS  AGO.) 

O    LOVE,  go   forth !     I   brought   thee   here 
For   that   I    heard    thee    sing   one  day 
When   thou    wast   in    the   grass   at   play: 
That   song   of  one   that   was    too   dear. 

0  Love !  —  O   Love  !  —  I   could   not  bear 
To   listen    by    the    wayside    there ; 

1  longed   to   hear   thee    sing,  somewhere 
Where   no   one  else    was   near. 

Rememberest   thou,  my  little  guest? 
In   bearing   thee,   (thy   pretty    wing 
Blinding   my  eyes,  thou    roguish   thing ! ) 
I    wandered  where   my  feet   knew   best. 
She   laid   on   thee   one   timid   touch, 
But   oh  !    that    little    was    so   much, 
The  arrows   in   thy   careless   clutch 
Stung   all    my  open   breast. 
2 


18  TURNING   LOVE   AWAY. 

How    bright   the    earth   was,  that   glad   time ! 
How   sweetly   breathed   the    evening   air ; 
It   seemed   her   breath    was    everywhere, 
And   ours   became   a   fairy   clime. 
The   sky   hung   all   in    gold   and   red ; 
The   flowers  all   vied   their   scents   to    shed ; 
The   ground   seemed   loving   to   my   tread ; 
All   sounds,  that    eve,  did    chime. 

I   gave   thee   but   one   only   task  : 

To    go    as  my   true   messenger, 

And   bring   sweet   words   again   from   her, 

The   work   thyself  didst   ask : 

Until   that   day    between    us   two 

Thou   broughtest   lies;    we   thought   them   true, 

So   well   our   cunning   traitor   knew 

His   young,  false   face   to   mask. 

I   must   shut   up   thy   little   room !  — 
Ah!    o'er   its   yet   unhardened   wall 
Thine   arrow   traced   her   name,  and   all 
Her   look,  except   her   own   fresh   bloom !  — 


TURNING   LOVE   AWAY.  19 

I    could   not   come   here   but   to   weep : 
Here    was   thy   little   couch    to   sleep ; 
These   walls   thy   useless    work    will   keep; 
But   this    shall   be    a   tomb. 

Let   me   forget  that   lying   tongue ! 
Ah,  what   a   price   its   falsehood   cost, 
When    once,  was   once   forever,  lost !  — 
Yet   sleep    that   loss,  lost   things   among ! 
For   such   this    world    makes   no   amends. 
We   drew   apart   and    chose    new    friends : 
So    many  a    short,  bright    story    ends, 
Where    two   young   hearts    were    wrung. 


A  WALK  AMONG  MEMORY'S   GRAVES. 


GRAVES   of  the    silent   dead, 
Ye    echo   to   the   tread 
Of  a   lone,  mourning   man  : 
They   were   my   friends   of  yore ; 
Sweet   company   they   bore 
To   me   when   life   began. 

ii. 

I   wander  here,  alone, 
To  seek   if  faithful   stone 
Is   set   by   every   grave ; 
And   to   call   up   again 
Thoughts,  cherished   not   in   vain, 
They   to   my  young   soul    gave. 

in. 

Yours   first  I   call,  dear    Hopes, 
Seen    on   the   sunny    slopes, 


A   WALK  AMONG  MEMORY'S   GRAVES.  21 

Where    as   a   child   I   lay ; 
Or   that   by    winding   brook, 
My   loitering   steps   o'ertook, 
In    the   long   summer   day. 

IV. 

There   was   no   sound   of  man  ; 
My   free   soul   forward   ran 
Among   the    coming    years. 
I   felt   the   breath   of  fame: 
I   heard    aloud   my  name: 
My   eyes   were   nigh   to   tears. 

v. 

Glad    Hopes !     Ye  gave   me   then 
What   long,  late   toil   to   men 
Brings    only    withering : 
I   plucked    with    childish   gripe, 
The   fruit   ere   it   was   ripe ; 
But   it    was   mine   in    spring. 

VI. 

Sweet,  sweet,  sad    Hopes  !    what   now 
Is   left   upon   the   bough, 


22 


Of  flower,  or   fruit,  or   leaf  ? 

And   yet,  why   mourn,  if  ye 

So   early   gave   to   me 

Thoughts,  fair   and   bright,  though   brief  ? 

VII. 

Feelings    of  childhood's   time, 
That   stretched  about   to   climb 
On   all   that   stood   around ! 
Whose   twining   grasp  was    laid, 
In   sunshine    and   in    shade, 
Tireless   on    all   it   found, — 

VIII. 

Whose   hold   was   often   flung 
From   that   whereon   ye   clung, 
Yet   would   not   long   be   free ; 
By   your   fond   instinct   taught 
I   thought    (true    childhood's   thought) 
That   all   were   kin   to   me. 

IX. 

Amid   the   boys'   loud  band 
I   seem   again   to   stand ; 


A    WALK   AMONG   MEMORY'S    GRAVES.  23 

Again    quick-voiced   and   glad ; 
Feelings    more   great  and  strong 
Than    to    child's    sports    belong 
In   those   young   days    we   had: 

x. 

The    swell,  ere    storms   begin, 

When   huge    waves   tumble    in 

And   fill   the    little   bay ; 

So    from   life's    vexed   sea, 

The   strong,  deep    swell   knew   we, 

In    childhood's   peaceful   day. 

XI. 

That   human   brotherhood, 
Mingling   in    every   mood, 
Made   this   our   life    so    great, 
The    mystic,  awful   bond 
Still    urged   me    forth  beyond 
Myself,  to   feel   my  fate: 

XII. 

One   of  so   many   more, 
Whom   life    was   laid   before 


24  A   WALK   AMONG    MEMORY'S    GRAVES. 

Full  of  mysterious    things ; 
Where    every   human    soul, 
To   the   great   common    whole, 
Its   lore   and   insight   brings. 

XIII. 

I   look   once   more   to    see, 
As   at   the  chestnut   tree 
Where   the   far   voices   died, 
The    pleasant   thoughts  that   played 
Beneath   that   pleasant   shade, 
In   troops   on    every    side. 

XIV. 

Then   youth   came   sailing   o'er, 
Fairer   than   all   before, 
Broad-sailed   and    deeply-fraught. 
Love  !     Hope  !     Ambition  !    you 
Mastered   the   lithe,  strong   crew.  — 
Love  ?  —  Hope  ?  —  Ambition  ?  —  Naught ! 

xv. 

Yet,  if  they   were   but   vain, 
They  come   no   more   again 


A   WALK   AMONG   MEMORY'S    GRAVES.  25 

To   make   me    loiter   here : 
The   work   that    God   has   set, 
It   has   the    long  days,  yet, 
And   brightest   of  the   year. 

XVI. 

Still   has   my  chief  work   been 
Rather   to   make   me    clean 
As    he   must   be   that  will 
Go    forth    'mid    thronging   men 
And    stretch   his   forward   ken 
Onward    and    upward,  still. 


XVII. 

No   more,  no    more    I    call ! 
Cool,  solemn    shadows   fall 
Down   on    my  open    mind ! 
For   this   I   wandered   here  — 
For   this    I    called   you    near, 
Thoughts   of  things    long   resigned  ; 

XVIII. 

They    will   be   raised  one   day, 
And    throng   about   the  way 


Of  the    old    dying    man ; 
Hopes,  feelings,  joys    that    smiled 
Upon   him    when    a   child, 
And   o'er    the   bright   scenes    ran. 

XIX. 

Children   in    summer's   eve, 

Do   pluck    the    old   man's    sleeve 

And    clamber  up    his    knee  ; 

Or   draw    him   by   the   hand 

To   where   their   playthings    stand, 

Or   their   sweet    sports    to   see. 

xx. 

Thus   will   these  come,  once    more, 

To   lead   him    gently   o'er 

The    scenes   loved   long   ago ; 

And    in   his   eldest   days, 

All    childhood's    long   left    ways 

Make    him   again    to   know. 

July, 1846. 


[One   stanza  was   put  in  and  the  neighboring  parts  adjusted 
to  it  in  I860.] 


THE   PAINTER'S   PROBATION. 

PART    FIRST. 

THERE  comes  in  life  a  frequent  hour, 

When  the  full  voice  of  Fate 

Calls  with  a  dread,  mysterious  power 

On  those  who  should  be  great: 

To  warn  them  that  a  mighty  dower 

Somewhere  for  them  doth  wait. 

For  somewhere,  in  the  long,  long  train 

That  marches  down  through  Time, 

Working  out  human  nature's  gain, 

Its  glory  or  its  crime, 

For  each  a  station  doth  remain: 

With  power  to  do  or  to  refrain, 

A  humble  or  sublime. 

And  they  whom  God  hath  breathed  upon 

And  gifted,  from  their  birth, 

With  lofty  powers  to  labor  on 

The  labor  of  this  earth, 

For  them,  amid  the  swelling  crowd, 


28      THE  PAINTER'S  PROBATION. 

An  office  is  assigned 

With  mighty  influence  endowed ; 

And  unto  them  Fate  calleth,  loud, 

In  the  first-opening  mind. 

Again,  again,  through  shine  or  cloud, 

Her  words  come,  as  the  wind. 

Alas !  how  many,  downward  bowed, 

Their  birthright  have  resigned ! 

O  God!     How  much  of  great  and  good, 

How  much  of  fearful  sin, 

Were  gained,  or  gallantly  withstood, 

If  these  their  place  would  win  ! 

There  hung  upon  the  chamber-wall 

The  fancies  he  had  wrought : 

All  that  his  soul  had  power  to  call, 

Out  of  the  shapes  that  shadow  all, 

Into  his  burning  thought. 

The  hopes  that  gladdened  early  years 

Had  left  their  colors  there, 

And  shades  were  there,  that  early  fears 

Had  taught  his  art  to  wear : 

Alternate  smiles,  alternate  tears, 


THE  PAINTER'S  PROBATION.  29 

(So  that  young  life  to  thought  appears,) 

Each  memory  had  its  share. 

But  in  the  dark  and  in  the  bright, — 

Colored  by  joy  or  pain,  — 

Something  was  wanting  to  his  sight  : 

The  utmost  all  were  vain. 

Sweet  strains  of  music  from  old  days 

Murmured  about  his  soul, 

And  Memory's  deep,  golden  haze, 

An  atmosphere  of  mingled  rays, 

O'er  his  wide  thought  would  roll, 

While  airs,  like  summer  wind  that  plays, 

Would  gently  fan  the  whole. 

Oh  !  at  such  seasons,  when  he  felt 

As  if  his  spirit,  free 

From  the  close  body's  narrow  belt, 

Swelled  towards  Divinity, 

And  pure  and  strong  and  living  grew, 

As  when  at  first  it  came 

From  Him  that  sent  it  forth  to  do 

Deeds  that  should  earn  a  name, 

Or,  nameless,  bear  a  blessing  through 

The  paths  of  this  world's  shame, 


30 


Oh  !  why,  when  God  himself  inspired 

Those  raptured  hours  of  thought, 

The  very  seasons  oft  desired, 

Why  has  he  yet  in  vain  retired, 

And  still  no  trophy  brought, 

Though,  by  a  transient  impulse  fired, 

Again  he  strove  and  wrought  ? 

He  saw  the  scene  :  he  felt  the  force ; 

He  started  forth  to  do  ! 

But  no !  the  streamlet  from  its  source 

Bears  flowers  of  every  hue 

Wrapped  in  their  seeds  ;  and,  in  its  course, 

It  strews  and  plants  them  too  : 

But  time,  and  place,  and  God's  own  smile 

Must  meet  together,  or  long  while 

Unfruitful  they  must  lie, 

Ere  they  will  show  again  the  scene 

From  which  they  came,  and  which  has  been 

Painted  in  many-colored  sheen 

Beneath  another  sky. 

Thus  all  were  vain  :  he  could  not  find 

Within  his  utmost  power, 

That  form  that  floated  in  his  mind, 


31 


Not  indistinct,  though  not  defined, 

Leaving  a  memory  behind, 

Like  tints  at  sunset  hour. 

His  gleaming  eye  had  caught  its  light, 

His  cheek  had  felt  its  glow  ; 

And  dreamily  before  his  sight, 

In  the  rapt  visions  of  the  night, 

That  fancy-form  would  go ; 

And  when  his  spirit  felt  its  might, 

That  form  he  seemed  to  know. 

In  the  wild  agony  of  prayer 

His  trembling  hand  had  tried 

To  fix  the  fleeting  figure  there ; 

And  he  had  sought  in  mad  despair 

The  power  that  was  denied. 

All  Beauty  and  all  Holiness,  — 

(Alas  !  there  mingled  Sin,)  — 

Howe'er  combined,  could  not  express 

That  form  he  sought  to  win. 

There  was  the  blue  of  changeless  Truth 

There  was  Love's  burning  red  ; 

The  golden-glowing  Hope  of  Youth 

Its  yellow  glory  spread : 


32      THE  PAINTER'S  PROBATION. 

Oh,  pure  !  oh,  bright !  oh,  heavenly  deep  I 
There  seemed  God's  Light  within, 
And  wings  of  angels  seemed  to  sweep 
The  breathing  words :  but  shades  did  creep 
O'er  all :  there  mingled  Sin ! 
That  chill,  chill  wind  from  o'er  the  graves 
And  from  the  cold,  damp  tomb, 
That  wind  that  frosts  the  hair  it  waves, 
And  pales  the  cheek's  fresh  bloom  ; 
The  bitter  wind  that  we  must  face 
As  down  life's  hill  we  go  apace, 
And  evening  spreads  its  gloom  ;  — 
He  felt  its  first  cold- creeping  breath, 
And  saw  afar,  in  mist,  the  vast,  dim  shape  of 
Death. 

Come  down,  O  night  of  dreamless  sleep  ! 

Come  to  this  sad,  sad  room  : 

This  working  will  and  spirit  steep 

In  silence,  not  in  gloom. 

Be  thou,  O  night  of  needed  rest, 

A  calm,  clear  night  of  peace, 

Wherein  the  voice  of  heavenly  guest 


THE  PAINTER'S  PROBATION.  33 

Can  sing  his  gentle  soothings  best, 

That  make  earth's  struggles  cease  ; 

And,  in  the  shut  and  darkened  mind, 

Leave  sweetest  lingering  notes  behind, 

That  shall  the  calm  increase, 

Until  with  waking  prayer  they  find, 

As  with  a  breath  of  morning  wind, 

A  happy,  fit  release. 

And  ye,  O  flowers  of  earnest  Thought, 

That  in  his  mind  grew  bright, 

With  fresher  perfume  shall  be  fraught 

And  fairer  robes,  of  spirits  caught, 

Cast  down  in  peaceful  night. 

1838  and  1846. 


END    OF    PART    FIRST. 


THAT  DEAD. 

Is  he  gone  ?     Oh  !     Is  he  gone  ? 

And  does  the  world  still  travel  on, 

Heedless  of  his  loss, 

Like  a  freighted  ship,  at  sea, 

Ploughing  on,  though  there  may  be 

One  that  perished  suddenly, 

In  the  deep,  like  dross  ? 

He  is  dead :  yes,  he  is  deal : 

Bands  of  earth  bind  down  his  head, 

Bands  of  earth  his  feet. 

They  that  stood  and  saw  him  die 

Brushed  the  salt  tear  from  the  eye, 

And  they  that  wrapped  him,  by  and  by, 

In  his  winding-sheet. 

He  was  one  that  had  high  thought 
In  the  mind-rooms  where  he  wrought 
For  all  others'  sake ; 


THAT   DEAD. 

And  had  looked  along  the  way, 
Where  the  halting-places  lay, 
Where,  from  every  weary  day, 
He  his  rest  would  take. 

December,  1846. 


THE   CHRIST    FORGOTTEN  IN   OUR   DAYS. 

"  Though  He  was  rich,  yet,  for  our  sakes,  He  became  poor.  How 
hardly  shall  they  that  have  riches  enter  into  the  kingdom  of 
God!  — The  cares  of  this  life,  and  the  deceitfulness  of  riches  choke 
the  Word,  and  it  becometh  unfruitful.  —  Lay  not  up  for  yourselves 
treasures  upon  earth.  — Take  no  thought  fur  the  morrow." 

CHRIST   in    a    wretched   place    was    born, 
Nor   owned    his    very    grave ; 
He   lived    both   homeless    and   forlorn,  — 
His   fellows    such    as   rich   men    scorn,  — 
And   ate   what   beggars   gave. 

And   when    the    Lord    of   Life   became 
Poor,  and   of  none   esteem, 
He    bade    his   followers    do    the    same ; 
For    Him    to    choose   a   life    of  shame ; 
Earth's   goods    a   curse    to   deem. 

The    poor  He   blessed,  and   opened   wide 
The    kingdom    to    their   feet ; 
And   bade   the   rich    man    go    divide 
The    wealth    whereon    he    built  his    pride, 
And   give   the   poor   to   eat. 


THE   CHRIST   FORGOTTEN   IN   OUR   DAYS.         37 

Not   otherwise    might   he  be   made 
Christ's    brother   and    God's    son  ; 
For   how    could   one   in   pomp    arrayed 
The    family   of  Christ   invade, 
Where    wealth    and   pomp    was    none  ? 

Christ's   brethren,  —  oh  !    what    seraphim 
Cared    less   for    earthly    good  ! 
The    rich,   bright   world    to    them    was    dim ; 
They   marched   along   with    Prayer   and    Hymn, 
And    left   it,  where   it   stood. 

If  in    the    Kingdom's    early    day, 
Men   gave    up    earth   for    Heaven, 
If  lands    and    wealth    they   gave   away, 
If  dainty    food   and    rich   array, — 
If  all   for   Christ   was    given, 

Then   how  unlike    God's    humble    Son 

Are    they   who   bear   his   name  ! 

In   rich   apparel   every   one, 

No   worldly    good   they    care   to    shun : 

Are   those   and   these   the   same? 


38    THE  CHRIST  FORGOTTEN  IN  OUR  DAYS. 

The   rich,  —  the    rich   are   everywhere  ; 

These   fill   the  Temple   too, 

And   scantly  give  the  poor   a   share 

To  whom   Christ   said   YE   BLESSED    ARE  : 

God's   kingdom   is  for  you. 

0  rich   men !    who   do    claim    to   be 
The   followers   of  the  Lamb, 

What,  what   are   you,   and   what   was    He  ? 
Is    not    His    name   a   mockery  ? 
Is   not   your   faith   a   sham  ? 

1  see   your   houses    cedar-lined : 
Ye   feed    each   earthborn   lust 

For   food,  for   gems,  for   gold   refined, 
For   every  pleasure   that   can   bind 
The    spirit   down    to   dust. 

What   single   thing   that   wealth    can   buy 
Do   ye,  for    Christ,  forget  ? 

To  BEAR  THY  CROSS,  THYSELF  DENY, 

Know   ye   these   words  ?     Were    they   to    die, 
Or   are    they   living   yet? 


THE   CHRIST  FORGOTTEN   IN    OUR   DAYS.         39 

Has    Christ   taught   you    another   way, 
The    Fathers    never   knew, 
To   live   well   here,  and   live   for   aye  ? 
To   have   the   riches    earth   can    pay, 
And    those    hereafter   too? 

And   yet   ye    cant   of  serving    God 
And    giving   to    his    poor, 
Who   go    unfed,  unclothed,  unshod, 
And   underneath    the    heavy    sod 
First   find   a   sleep    secure. 

O   men    well   clothed,  and  warmed,  and    filled 

While    God's    poor    children    fast, 

The   very    churches    that   ye   build 

And    deck   with   pomp   and    carve    and   gild 

Will  judge   you   at   the   last. 

WHERE   ARE   MY   POOR,    Christ   still   demands,  — 

To   whom   the    Gospel  came  ? 

This    costly   offering   at   your  hands 

Is   to   yourselves,  and   only   stands 

A   monument  of  shame. 


40    THE  CHRIST  FORGOTTEN  IN  OUR  BAYS. 

GIVE   TO    MY   POOR  !    give   much  :    give   all, 
If  nothing   less    will   do; 
They  that   at   first   obeyed   the   call, 
Were   fain   to   let   earth's   riches    fall : 
Shall   I   ask   less   of  you? 

June,  1849. 


THE   CRY   OF   THE   WRONGED. 

The  allusion,  in  the  fourth  stanza,  to  the  startling  emptiness  of 
the  hovel  from  which  one  of  those  poor  people,  who  are  just  suffered 
to  live  in  this  world,  has  gone  to  another,  will  be  recognized  in  full 
force  by  any  one  who  has,  even  once  in  his  life,  looked  in  upon 
such  a  sight.  I  have  seen,  on  untwisting  the  string  from  the  nail 
and  pushing  open  the  crazy  door,  literally  almost  no  relics  but  the 
handful  of  ashes  upon  the  hearth,  and  the  Ijttle  heap  of  dust,  laid  out 
upon  the  bench,  waiting  to  be  given  back  to  the  earth  from  which  it 
was  taken.  God  help  our  poor  brethren ! 

BROTHER,  I   am    only  dust: 
Wherefore   wilt   thou    be   unjust? 
Wherefore   shake   my  humble    trust 
In    our    God,  my   brother  ? 
There   is   yet   but   little    day 
That   together   we    shall   stay : 
Wherefore  jostle    me    away  ? 
Love    we   one   another. 


I   have   but   this   little    spot: 
From   my   poor   need   snatch    it   not : 
It   is    all   that  I   have   got 
Of  this    hard  world's    giving. 


42  THE    CRY    OF   THE    WRONGED. 

Is    there    not   a   room   for   me, 
Among   all    God   made   to   be, 
Where   to   gather,  manfully, 
Yet   with   toil   my   living? 

God   has   given   light   and   air : 
Grudge   not   thou   my   little    share ; 
Lo !    it   cometh  everywhere, 
We   may  share   together. 
God,  Himself,  has    set   me    here, 
And,  with   many  a   bitter   tear, 
I  have    struggled   many    a  year 
Of  rough   and   wintry   weather. 

Let   me    work,  —  I   ask   no   more,  — 
Till   my   stint   is   labored   o'er. 
I   can   never   lay   up    store ; 
None   this    world   will   send   me. 
When   I   go,  if  men    look    there, 
They   will   find   my   place    all   bare; 
Nothing   but   the   light   and   air, 
God   was   good   to   lend   me. 


THE    CRY    OF    THE   WKONGED.  43 

Brother,  look    at   me   again  : 

Toil   has   given   me   many   a   stain, 

Toil   has    swollen    every   vein, 

Yet   I   am   thy    brother. 

I   ^m   man,  as   well   as  thou, 

And   our    Lord   has    crossed   my   brow, 

Calling   me    God's    child,  and   how 

Wilt   thou    call   me   other  ? 

Let   me   stay   until   He    call : 
Let   me    stay   till    evening   fall, 
If  so    long   I    must   be    thrall, 
My  hard   labor   plying. 
When    thou    comest   to   take    share 
In   my  cold   bed,  thou  wilt   there 
Grant   my  claim,  and   little    care 
Near   the    poor    man    lying. 

December,  1846. 


A  CHRISTMAS   SERMON. 

ON    the   glorious    Birthday   morning,  . 
All    the    church   is    dressed   in    green  ; 
Loud   are   heard   the   holy   anthems, 
Sweetest    prayers    go    up   between. 

He   that   lay   in   lowly   manger, 
Now  is   known    as    Heaven's    King  ; 
What   but   angels    sang,   aforetime, 
Now   have   men   been   taught   to   sing  : 

"  God   have    glory,   in   the   highest  : 
Peace   on    earth,   good-will   towards    men 
Over   all   the    tide   of  ages, 
Ever   now    as   it   was    then." 

After   prayers   and   chant   all   ended, 
Then   the    priest   begins    to   preach  : 
In    God's   name   he    speaketh   plainly, 
For    God's    sake   he   loveth    each. 


A    CHRISTMAS    SERMON.  45 

"  Lo  !  "   he    saith,    «  the    Lord   of   Glory, 
Born    and    cradled    in    a    stall  ! 
Sure    He    had   but    scanty    welcome, 
Seeing    He    was    Lord    of  all. 

"  Yet,    in    sooth,  He   sought    no   other, 
Nor   to    earth    for   homage    came ; 
Here    He    took    the    form    of  servant  ; 
Here    He    bared   the   cheek    to   shame. 

"  Not   of  this    world    was    His    kingdom  : 
He   lived   not   at   monarch's   cost  : 
He    sought   not   the    known    and   honored, 
But    He    came   to   seek    the   lost  : 

"  Lost   from   out   the    world's   long   annals, 
For   they    came   of  humble    kin  : 
Lost   from    out   the    Book    of  Heaven, 
For   their   life    was    led    in    sin. 

"  Thus    the   poor,   and    thus    the    sinner, 
Found   the    Lord   beside    their   door  : 
Heard    His    blessed   words    of  comfort, 
Such   as   no   man    spake   before. 


46  A    CHRISTMAS    SERMON. 

"  Let   our   thoughts,   this    day,    my   brethren, 
Seek   the    poor,   by   men   forgot  ; 
Whom   the   holy    Christ   remembered, 
Coming   here    to   share   their   lot. 

"  This    world   hath   its   rich   and   needy  : 
This    world   hath   its   high   and   low  : 
On   the   one   side,   pomp   and   worship  ; 
On   the   other,   toil   and   woe. 

"  Not   forever   shall   we   struggle 
With   the   trials   of  this   state  : 
To   be   poor,   and   yet  be   thankful  ; 
To   be   lowly-willed,   if  great. 

"  Yet   a   little,   and   the   Judgment  : 
Then   we   change   for   good   or   ill : 
Rich   or  poor   shall   enter   heaven, 
As  they   did   the    Father's   will. 

"  To  be  rich  we  may  not  covet, 
Ye  have  heard  the  Saviour  say  : 
And  He  chose  the  lowest  station 
When  He  came  to  earth  this  day. 


A    CHRISTMAS    SERMON.  47 

"  He   has    told    us   of  His   kingdom, 
Hardly   shall   the    rich   go   in  ; 
Though   the    best   that   this   world   offers,  — 
Power   and   glory,  —  wealth    may    win. 

"  I   will   tell   a   simple    story : 
Every   day   it   falleth   true  ; 
Jesu   grant   you    all,   my   brethren, 
That   it   be   not   so    of  you. 

"  See   you   there   how    Dives    sitteth, 
Richly   clad,    at   dainty   fare  ? 
Many    servants    make   obeisance, 
Many   guests    sit   humbly   there. 

"  Now   one    cometh,    speaking   softly, 
'  Lazarus   is   at   the   gate  : 
Waiting,   in   full   mournful   fashion, 
That   his   welcome   cometh   late. 

"  '  For   he   meekly   claimeth    kindred, 
Though   he   is   of  low   degree.' 
Heed   the   rich   man,   now,   my   brethren  ; 
Scornful   answer   maketh   he  : 


48  A    CHRISTMAS    SERMON. 

"  '  Lazarus  ?     I    know    no   beggars, 
And   my   kin    bear   no    such    name  : 
Yet   these    poor   folk   have    their   kindred 
Bid    him   go   from    whence    he    came.' 

"  '  Good    my    lord,    the    dogs    are    licking, 
In    mere    ruth,    his    running    sore  ; 
He   is    modest,    and   he    claimeth 
But   the    crumbs    from    off   thy    floor.' 

"  '  Prating    varlet  !  '    said    the    rich    man, 
'  Now   what   idle   knaves    have    I  ! 
Was   there    none    to    bid    this    beggar 
Choose   a   fitter   place    to    die  ?  ' 

"  He   forgot   that   in    God's    heaven, 
Righteous    poor   shall    have    their    share  : 
And    he    thrust    him    from    the    threshold, 
Caring    nought    how    he    might    fare. 

"  So    the    servants   laid   the    beggar 
Just  before    another's    gate  ; 
Coming   back,    with   due    obeisance, 
At   their   master's    side   to   wait. 


A    CHRISTMAS    SERMON.  49 

"  Soon    the    poor   man   died,    full   godly, 
And    with   saints    he    went   to    dwell : 
Next   the   rich   man   died,   and,    after, 
Lifted   up   his    eyes    in    hell  ; 

"  And   afar   he   saw   the    poor   man, 
As    he   lay   in   Abraham's    breast  ; 
And,   from   out   his   place   of  torment, 
Prayed   towards   that   blissful   rest. 

"  'T  was   but   for  "a   drop   of  water  : 
Yet   his    boon    he    could   not    win  : 
God   had    set   a   gulf,    forever, 
'Twixt   the    two   that  were   not   kin. 

"  For   the   words   of  dreadful  judgment, 
Christ   hath    told   us    what   they    be  : 
1  I   was   hungry,    sick,   and    naked, 
And   ye   had   no    care   of  me.' 

"  Then    shall   they   make   forward    answer, 
That   on    earth    had    Him   forgot  : 
'  Lord,    when    saw   we    Thee    an-hungered, 
Sick,   and   naked,   and   cared   not  ?  ' 

4 


50  A    CHRISTMAS    SERMON. 

"  Christ   shall   say,   '  These    poor   and  wretched, 
Whose   meek   claim   ye   put   aside, 
I   do   own   them   as   my   brethren, 
And   in   them  was   I   denied. 

"  *  When   ye    saw   me   not,   nor   heard   me, 

It   was   I   put   up   the    claim  : 

I   lay   pining   at   the   threshold, 

For   they   sought   you    in   my   name.' 

"  Let   us,  then,   confess    Christ's   brother, 
Lest   we   claim    another   kin  : 
Then,   before   the   gate    of  heaven, 
He   shall   bid   us   enter  in. 

"  Glory,   worship,   love,    and    service, 
To   the   blessed   One   in   Three  : 
As   it    was   in   the   beginning, 
Is,   and   evermore   shall   be  !  " 


THE  BISHOP  BOUND. 

[After  a  missionary  bishop  had  been  sent  out  to  Jerusalem,  by 
the  English  Church,  a  great  storm  was  raised  in  England,  be 
cause  he  suffered  some  members  of  the  superstitious  and  decrepid 
Eastern  Church,  in  the  midst  of  which  he  stood,  to  learn  the 
Gospel  of  him.] 

"Necessity  is  laid  upon  me." 

YE    tell    me    that   I   must   not   preach 
The    Gospel   to   these   men, 
And  if  it   struggles    up    to    speech, 
Must   choke    it   down  —  and    then  ? 

I   may    stand    here,    with    dimming   eyes, 
And    watch    the    world   abroad  ; 
For    what  ?  —  Lest   they,   in   any   wise, 
Should    catch    the    truth  of   God. 

They   have    "  Most    Holy    Lords "    to    reign 
Where    poor   Apostles    wrought  : 
Shall   "Right    Divine"    God's    work    restrain 
And   bring    His    Faith    to    nought  ? 


52  THE    BISHOP    BOUND. 

Can    tapers,   robes,    and    painted    saints, 
And   chant  of  old-time   words 
Save,  more   than   flowers   that   sunlight   paints, 
Or   out-door   song   of  birds  ? 

If  living   faith   in    God's    own    Son 
Alone   true   life   can    give, 
Shall   I   undo   what    God   has   done, 
Nor   bid   these   dead   men   live  ? 

The   winds   are    His,   as   well   as   I, 
And,   as   their    quick   feet   flit, 
They   will   not   let  the   message   die 
But   men   shall   hear   of  it. 

Could   ye   stand   by   me   in   my   need, 
When   the   last   Judge   is   set, 
And   all   is   done,    of  human    deed, 
But   not   accounted,   yet  ? 

Oh,   no  !    this   breath   I   breathe,   of  air, 
And   shape   in   words,   to-day, 
Must   preach   His    Gospel   everywhere, 
Or   woe   is   mine   for   aye. 
January  15,  1854. 


A   COMMUNING  WITH   GOD 

BEFORE     ENTERING     INTO     HOLY     ORDERS. 

WHAT  hands  will  now  be  laid  upon  me,  Lord  ? 
Whose  spirit  breathed,  whose  blessed  influence  given  ? 
By  whom  shall  I  be  sent  to  bear  The  Word  — 
That  precious  load  —  along  the  path  to  Heaven  ? 

Almighty  God  !     Eternal  God  !     T  is  Thou, 
That  in  Thy  chosen  servant  here  dost  stand  : 
Prostrate  before  Thy  footstool,  lo,  I  bow, 
To  seek  the  dread  commission  at  Thy  hand. 

O  God,  the  Father  !    from  whose  quickening  breath 
All  beings  move,  each  in  his  proper  round, 
Whose  arm  sustains,  above  the  abyss  of  Death, 

What  else  would  sink  within  that  dread  profound, 

0 

Give  me,  Great  Parent,  that  enkindling  power 
To  wake  anew,  deep  in  my  brother's  soul, 


54  A     COMMUNING    WITH    GOD. 

The  Godlike  nature,  that,  in  man's  first  hour, 
Made  the  dim  part  reflect  the  perfect  whole. 

O  God,  the  Son  !    who,  with  unbounded  grace, 
Tookest  up  manhood,  healedst  the  gaping  wound, 
And  bearest  to  the  Father's  dwelling-place 
The  dying  saved,  the  long-lost  wanderer  found, 

Give  unto  me  that  ready  neighbor-love, 
That  guideth  where  the  wounded  heart  to  find  ; 
And  give  me  Thy  blest  unction  from  above, 
With  holy  balm  the  bleeding  soul  to  bind. 

0  God,  the  Holy  Ghost  !    that  hallowest  all 
Thy  faithful  people,  and  to  every  truth 
Upwards  their  still  advancing  steps  dost  call, 
Till  weary  Age  rests,  smiling  back  on  youth, 

Hallow  my  life,  that  I  may  ever  be 
Worthy  to  stand  at  my  King's  festal  board  ; 
And  teach  me  truth,  that,  being  taught  by  Thee, 

1  may  show  others,  where  all  good  is  stored. 


A    COMMUNING    WITH    GOD.  55 

One  only  God  !    whose  works  and  ways  are  one, 
Grant  me  with  single  heart  to  do  Thy  will, 
Make  me  wrong  thoughts  and  words  and  ways  to 

shun, 
In  Thy  one,  mystic  realm  my  place  to  fill. 


Keith  Hall,  Bermudas, 
November  29,  1842,  at  night. 


THE  KELIEF   OF  LUCKNOW. 


Are  there  not  many  that  remember  (who  can  can  forget  ?)  that 
scene  in  the  Sikh  war,  —  also  in  India,  —  when  the  distant  gleam 
of  arms  and  flash  of  friendly  uniform  was  descried  by  a  little 
exhausted  army  among  the  hills,  and  the  Scotch  pipes  struck 
up  "  Oh!  but  ye  were  lang  a-comin!"  (Lachrymamne  teneatis, 
amici  ?  None  of  us,  that  have  much  Scottish  blood,  can  keep  our 
eyes  from  moistening.)  The  incident  in  the  present  case  may  not 
be  historical,  but  it  is  true  to  nature,  and  intrinsically  probable, 
which  is  all  that  poetry  needs,  in  that  respect. 


OH  !    that  last  day  in  Lucknow  fort  ! 
We  knew  that  it  was  the  last  ; 
That  the  enemy's  mines  had  crept  surely  in, 
And  the  end  was  coming  fast. 

To  yield  to  that  foe  was  worse  than  death  ; 
And  the  men  and  we  all  worked  on  : 
It  was  one  day  more,  of  smoke  and  roar, 
And  then  it  would  all  be  done. 

There  was  one  of  us,  a  Corporal's  wife, 
A  fair,  young,  gentle  thing, 


THE    RELIEF    OF    LUCKNOW.  57 

Wasted  with  fever  in  the  siege, 
And  her  mind  was  wandering. 

She  laj  on  the  ground,  in  her  Scottish  plaid, 

And  I  took  her  head  on  my  knee  ; 

"  When  my  father  comes  hame  frae  the  pleugh,"  she 

said, 
"  Oh  !    please  then  waken  me." 

She  slept  like  a  child  on  her  father's  floor, 

In  the  flecking  of  woodbine-shade, 

When  the  house-dog  sprawls  by  the  half-open  door, 

And  the  mother's  wheel  is  stayed. 

It  was  smoke  and  roar  and  powder-stench, 
And  hopeless  waiting  for  death  ; 
But  the  soldier's  wife,  like  a  full-tired  child, 
Seemed  scarce  to  draw  her  breath. 

/  sank  to  sleep,  and  I  had  my  dream 
Of  an  English  village-lane, 
And  wall  and  garden  ;  —  but  a  wild  scream 
Brought  me  back  to  the  roar  again. 


58  THE    RELIEF    OF    LUCKNOW. 

There  Jessie  Brown  stood  listening, 
Until  sudden  gladness  broke 
All  over  her  face,  and  she  took  my  hand 
And  drew  me  near  and  spoke  : 

«  The  Highlanders  !     Oh  !    dinna  ye  hear  ? 
The  slogan  far  awa  ? 
The  McGregor's  ?     Ah  !    I  ken  it  weel ; 
It's  the  grandest  o'  them  a'. 

"  God  bless  thae  bonny  Highlanders  ! 
We  're  saved  !     We  're  saved  !  "    she  cried  ; 
And  fell  on  her  knees,  and  thanks  to  God 
Poured  forth,  like  a  full  flood-tide. 

Along  the  battery-line  her  cry 

Had  fallen  among  the  men  : 

And  they  started  ;   for  they  were  there  to  die  ; 

Was  life  so  near  them,  then  ? 

They  listened,  for  life  ;   and  the  rattling  fire 
Far  off,  and  the  far-off  roar 
Were  all  ;  —  and  the  Colonel  shook  his  head, 
And  they  turned  to  their  guns  once  more. 


THE    RELIEF    OF    LUCKNOW.  59 

Then  Jessie  said,  te  That  slogan  's  dune ; 

But  can  ye  no  hear  them,  noo, 

'  The   Campbells  are  c.omin '  ?     It 's  no  a  dream  ; 

Our  succors  hae  broken  through  !  " 

We  heard  the  roar  and  the  rattle  afar, 
But  the  pipes  we  could  not  hear  ; 
So  the  men  plied  their  work  of  hopeless  war, 
And  knew  that  the  end  was  near. 

It  was  not  long  ere  it  must  be  heard  ; 
A  shrilling,  ceaseless  sound  ; 
It  was  no  noise  of  the  strife  afar, 
Or  the  sappers  underground. 

It  was  the  pipes  of  the  Highlanders, 
And  now  they  played  u  Auld  Lang  Syne" 
It  came  to  our  men,  like  the  voice  of  God, 
And  they  shouted  along  the  line. 

And  they  wept  and  shook  one  another's  hands, 
And  the  women  sobbed  in   a  crowd  ; 
And  every  one  knelt  down  where  we  stood, 
And  we  all  thanked  God  aloud. 


60  THE    RELIEF     OF     LUCKNOW. 

That  happy  day,  when  we  welcomed  them, 
Our  men  put  Jessie  first  ; 
And  the  General  took  her  hand,  and  cheers 
From  the  men,  like  a  volley,  burst. 

And  the  pipers'  ribbons  and  tartan  streamed, 
Marching  round  and  round  our  line  ; 
And  our  joyful  cheers  were  broken  with  tears, 
For  the  pipes  played  **  Auld  Lang  Syne" 

Saturday   and    Sunday   nights, 
January  2  and   3,  1858. 


DIRGE   TO   A   SOUL   DEPARTING. 

(FOR  MUSIC.) 

STAY,  flitting   soul! 

"Wilt   thou    not  longer   stay? 

Why  dost   thou    hasten    on   that   weary  way, 

Beyond   these    quiet   realms   of  day, 

Into   the   unknown   land,  where   dim    mists    roll  ? 

Look   back !     Look   back 

Along   the   well-known    track, 

Stretching   far   backward   to    dear   scenes    of  spring  ! 

There    childhood's    pretty   memories    lie  : 

The   flowing   hair,  the   beamy  eye, 

The   bounding   step,   and  joyous,   ringing   cry. 

See   the  glad   hopes   that    erst 

The    child's    true    spirit   nurst, 

By   day   in    visions   bright, 

In    whispering   dreams    by   night; 

Dost  thou    not   yearn   towards  them,  as    we    sing? 

And   youth's   first   real   strife 

With   the   breasting   waves   of  life, 


62  DIRGE   TO    A    SOUL    DEPARTING. 

When    strength   was   in   the    arm, 

And   the    heart   was   proud   and    warm, 

And   the   eye   looked   forth,  without   alarm, 

For   all   that   time    could   bring. 

See,  see   those   sunny  days  ! 

And   let   our   soft   dirge    raise 

Bright   tempting   scenes  before    thine   eye  to   fling! 

Look  !     Look !     This    world    is    bright ; 

But   now    thou    loved'st    its    light  ; 

Why   dost   thou   turn   away   thy   sight, 

As  from  an    evil  thing  ? 

Come   to   us    back !     Come   to    us   back ! 

Let   not   our   sorrowing   spirits    lack 

The   fellowship    to    which   our   strong   loves    cling! 

[  Weeping   stillness.~] 

Is   it   so  hard   for   thee   to    linger    yet 

Where  thou  hast  been  at  home   these   many  years? 

Why  should   these   long-familiar   landings    fret 

Now,  more   then   ever,  that   thou    fain   wilt   set 

This   pleasant   form   aside,   that   we    with   tears 

Must   wash ;    then    put   away 

Out   of  our   sight   forever   and   for   aye  ? 


DIRGE   TO   A    SOUL   DEPARTING.  63 

Come   to   us   back !     Come  to   us    back ! 
Come,  yet   a   little,  to   our   fond   hearts   back ! 

[Stillness.] 

Why,  why  would'st   thou   forget 
These   once-loved   voices,  that,  in    every  tone, 
In    days   gone   by,    sweet   influence    have    thrown 
Around   thee,  answering   warmly  to    thine    own  ? 
"Wilt   thou    not   listen  ?     Hast   thou    no   regret  ? 
Wilt   thou   still    forward,  where    is    all    unknown  ? 
Wilt   thou    still   forward? 

And   alone  ? 

Oh !    wilt   thou    venture    such    a    path    alone  ? 
Turn  !     Turn  !     Come   back  !     Come   back  ! 
Before   thee   how   it   gathers    black ! 
Return,  where   all   thou    boldest    dear   are    met  ! 

[StiUness.] 

Thou   loiterest   still ; 

We    see   these    casements  fill 

With   the   soft-falling,    gentle    mist 

Where   thou    art    looking   out,  once    more, 

To   see   the   scene   long-known   and   loved   before. 


64  DIRGE   TO    A    SOUL   DEPARTING. 

Hist !     Hist ! 
This   sternly-closed   door 

From  which    glad    words   were   wont   to    pour, 
Is   it   forever   closed?     Will   it   not   open  more? 
Is    it   in   vain   we   list  ? 
We   mark,  we   mark   its   fixed   leaves 
Tremble,   as    the   soul   yet   heaves 
Against   them   feebly,    as   in    doubt 
To   open    still  to    us    that  wait  without ; 
Come,   then !     Oh,    come  ! 

\_Stillness.~] 

But   that   faint,   smothered   cry! 

Ah,   smothered    strife   of  agony! 

Nay !   we    will   let   this   weary  body  die ! 

Nay !   flitting   spirit,  nay  ! 

We  will   not   have   thee    stay ; 

Go   forward   gladly   on   thy    way; 

Our   songs    shall   cheer  thee   as   thou   goest   home. 

Farewell !     Farewell !     Close   we   these   open   eyes. 
No   more    wilt   thou    be   looking   forth,  this    way, 
Who   once   hast   caught,  afar,  the  light   of  Paradise. 


DIRGE   TO   A    SOUL   DEPARTING.  65 

Our   love    shall   give   this    form   to   long   decay, 
That,  when    thou   comest  back   for   it,  shall   rise 
A   glorious    body,  at   the   Judgment-Day. 

On  !    On  !    thou    blessed    soul !     See   Jesus    wait  ; 
Thy  lamp   of  faith    is    trimmed,  but   all   is    light; 
The   path   leads   forward,  to   the   open   gate; 
He   waits    thee    smiling,  and   the    way  is   bright. 
On,  faithful   soul! 
Our   swelling   songs    shall   roll 
Sweet,   melancholy    surges   here    behind, 
That  full    of  memory    thou    shalt    find 
As    one,  slow-sailing  from   the   outward    shore 
Of  a   dear   land   oft  wandered   o'er, 
Hears,  in    still   night,  its    wave-voice    on    the    wind. 
Thou    art    quitting,   now,  the  verge 
Of  this  long-beloved    land, 
And   mayest   listen,  still,    the    surge 
Heave    up    upon   the    strand. 
On !   On !    yet   let   our   song 
Still   go   with   thee   along, 
Till  it  is    lost  amid  the    strain 
Of   Christ's   glorious    spirit-train 
6 


66  DIRGE   TO    A    SOUL   DEPARTING. 

As   another   soul   they  gain 

To  sweet  Paradise,  no  more  to  live,  no  more  to  love, 
as  here  on  earth,  in  vain. 

Our   earth-born   dirges    cease : 

Pass,  Christian    soul,  in   peace !  * 

Peace    that    Christ   giveth : 

PEACE ! 

January,  1846. 


THE    YEAR    IS    GONE  ! 

WHERE   art   thou,   O   lost   Year? 

I   tread   upon   the   scattered   leaves, 

The    way   is    drear;    my   lone   heart   grieves. 

I   see   thy   traces    everywhere  ; 

These   leaves   once   decked   thy   golden   hair. 

I   find   thy    playthings    here  ; 

But   oh  !    thou   art   not   near. 

The   bright   and   golden    grain  — 
Men   have   it   all   long  garnered   in. 
Here   spreads   the   frosted   stubble,   thin, 
O'er   the   wide   fields    whereon   it   stood, 
Where   thou   didst   trip,   in    playful    mood, 
Bringing   the    sun   or   rain. 
I   seek    for   thee    in    vain. 


68  THE    YEAR    IS     GONE  ! 

Is   this   thy   merry   brook, 

Whose   gurgling   used   to   please   thine   ear  ? 

Oh  !    my   once   happy,    thoughtless   Year ! 

Beneath   its    solid,   icy   roof, 

How    silent,   now,   it   bides   aloof! 

Lost   is   the   frolic   look 

That   from   thy    smile   it   took. 

Beneath   the   forest   tall 

No    more   I   feel   thy   glowing   breath, 

Or   watch   the    calm,    too    bright   for    death, 

When   thou    at   noon   didst   fall   asleep, 

And,    what   thy   hands    could   no  more   keep, 

Blossom   or   nut,   would   fall. 

Sweet   Year  !     In   vain   I   call. 

Thy   pretty   birds   are   mute, 

That   sang   with   all   their   little   might 

And   flashed   their   bright    wings   in   the   light 

And   children,   fairer   still   than   they, 

Gambol   no   longer   at   their   play  : 

No   more    the    busy   foot 

Tramples   the    soft   grass-root. 


THE    YEAR    IS     GONE  !  69 

Thou    wert   no    more    the    same 

When   once   that   hectic   flush    of  red 

Too    surely   on    thy   fair   cheek    spread ; 

And,   by   and   by,   in    silent   fold, 

The   white   robes    closed,    all    still   and    cold, 

And    when    I   called    thy   name, 

No   voice   or   answer   came. 

And   there   was   deeper   bond 

Than   such   as   various   season   weaves, 

Of  sunny   flowers,    or   buds,   or   leaves : 

I   mourn   for   many   a    hope   and   thought. 

That   by    thy    ministry    were    brought 

Out   of  the    world    beyond : 

These    made    my   poor   heart   fond. 

And   I   have    wrought    with    thee, 
In   pleasant  hours,    at   many   a    net, 
Of  hues,    as    when    the    sun    doth   set. 
We   stretched   the    strands   out   very   wide, 
But   each    too   soon   was   thrust   aside  : 
New   schemes   thou    broughtest    me 
Of  what    could   never   be. 


70  THE    YEAR    IS     GONE! 

Thou   knewest   all   I    willed  ; 
How   many   purposes   I   made  : 
Into   thine   ear   the   whole    was   said, 
How   I   would   rue   the   ill   deeds   done, 
How   guilty   temptings   I   would   shun. 
Now   thy   warm   life   is    chilled, 
What,   of  these   plans,   fulfilled  ! 

0  lost   Year,   be   thou    past  ! 

Too    soon    the    truant   heart   and   will 
All   this   clear   sky   of  life    would   fill 
With   that    unprofitable    haze, 
That   makes   half  nights   of  working   days. 
Forward   my   way   is   cast  ; 

1  rest   not   till   the   last. 

1849. 


BURGER'S  LENORE. 

LENORA   rose   at   morning-red, 

From   bitter   dreams    awaking  : 

"  Art   faithless,    William,    or   art    dead, 

So   long   thy   love    forsaking  ?  " 

He    went   with    royal    Frederic's   might, 

To    battle   in   Prague's   famous   fight  : 

But   from   the    war-field    gory 

No   post   has    brought   his   story. 

The    King   and   Empress,    tired,    at   last, 
Of  arms    so    vainly    wielded, 
Alike   aside   their   rage   have    cast, 
And   to    a    truce   have   yielded. 
Now    each   glad   host   with   sing-song   rang, 
With    beating   drum    and   cling   and    clang  ; 
And,   decked    with   many   a   garland, 
Came   homeward   from   the   far   land. 


72 


And   over   all,    all   over    all, 

From   street    and   lane    and   alley, 

Shout   old   and   young   their  jubel-call, 

And   round   the   home-march   rally. 

Praise    God  !    the   child   and   good  wife    cried ; 

Welcome  !    said   many   a   longing   bride ; 

But,   for   Lenore,  no    meeting  : 

No   kiss,   or   tender   greeting. 

Each    way    she    flew,    the    ranks    all   through, 

But,   though    all   names    were   spoken, 

No   one   that   came   her   lover   knew, 

And   no   one    could   give   token. 

And   when   the   hosts   passed   onward  were, 

She   tore   her   glossy,    raven    hair  ; 

Upon   the  greensward    sinking, 

With   bitter   woe   past   thinking. 

The   mother   kneeled   upon   her   knee  ; 

"  God,    pity   my   poor   daughter  ! 

My   darling   child,  what   is 't    with    thee  ? " 

And   in   her   arms    she    caught   her. 

"  Ah,    mother,   mother,    gone   is   gone  ! 


73 


Now   let   the    world   and   all   be    gone  !  * 

No    pity   dwells    in    Heaven  : 

Woe  !    woe  !    my    heart   is    riven  !  " 

"  Help,    God  !    oh,    help  !    look    gently   on  ! 
Child,   child  !   oh,   say,    <  Our    Father  !  ' 
What    God   does,    that   is    sure    well   done : 
God,  judge    not ;    spare    us   rather  !  " 
"  0    mother,   mother,    mockery  ! 
God   has    not,   sure,    well-done    to   me. 
My   prayers,  ah  !    what   passed   they   for  ? 
Now   nought   is   left   to   pray   for  I " 

"  Help,    God  !    whoe'er   the    Father   knows, 

Knows    He    the   children   loveth  ; 

The    Holy   Sacrament   such   woes 

As   thine, -my   child,  "removeth." 

"  O   mother,    mother,   little    vent 

My    woe   would   find   in    sacrament. 

No   sacrament   can    solder      » 

Forms   that   in    death-damps   moulder." 


*  Wherever  a  final   word    is    repeated,   the    original    has    the 
same  construction. 


74  BURGER'S   LENORE. 

"  Hear,   child  !     How  if  the   perjured   one, 
When   long   in   far   Hungary, 
Had   all   his   ties    of  troth    undone, 
Some    newer   love    to   marry  ? 
Cast   off  his    heart,    my    child  !    by   sin 
In    the   long   game   he    cannot   win  ; 
When    soul   and   body    sever, 
This    deed    shall    sting   forever." 

"  O   mother,   mother,   gone   is   gone  ! 

Forsaken    is    forsaken, 

Death,  death !     "Come  death,  and  I  have  won ! 

Why   did   I   ever   waken  ? 

Go   out,   forever   out,   my   light  ! 

Die   out,    die   out,   in    woe    and   night  ! 

No   pity   dwells    in    Heaven  ; 

Woe  !    woe  !    my   soul   is   riven ! " 

"  Help,    God  !     To  judgment   enter   not  : 
The   poor   child's    heart   is    broken  : 
She    utters,   now,    she   knows   not   what  : 
Oh,    count   not   what   is   spoken  ! 


BURGER'S  LENORE.  75 

My    child,   forget   this    world's    distress, 
And    think   on    God,   and   blessedness  : 
So   to    thy   heart   forsaken 
A   spouse   shall   yet   be   taken." 

"  O   mother  !     What   is   blessedness  ? 
Oh  !    what   is   hell,    my   mother  ? 
With    him,    with    him,    is    blessedness  ; 
And    hell   without   him,   mother. 
Go    out,    forever   out,    my   light  ! 
Die   out,   die   out,    in    woe    and   night  ! 
Without    him,  earth   and   heaven 
In   misery    were    even." 

Thus    mad   despair   within    her   brain, 

And   in    her    veins    all   revelled, 

Till   e'en   at    God's    all-gracious    reign, 

Her   impious    scorn    she    levelled. 

She    wrung    her   hands   and    beat   her   breast 

Until    the   sun    went   down   to   rest  : 

Till    up   to   heaven's   high   chamber 

The   golden   stars   'gan    clamber. 


76  BURGER'S   LENORE. 

And  then  without,  hark  !    tramp,  tramp,  tramp  ! 

A   horse's    footsteps    sounded  ; 

Then    on   the   steps,    with   heavy    stamp, 

The    clanking   rider   bounded. 

And   hark  !   and   hark  !    the    door-bell   ring, 

All   gently,   softly,   ching-ling-ling. 

Then,   through   the   door-leaves   uttered, 

Just   these   quick   questions   fluttered : 

«  Holla  !    holla  !    undo,   my   child  ! 
Wak'st   thou,   my   love,   or   sleepest  ? 
Has   time   thy   love   for   me   beguiled  ? 
And   smilest   thou,   or   weepest  ?  " 
"  Ah,   William  !     Thou,   so   late   at   night  ? 
I  've    wept   and    waked,   in    weary   plight ; 
Oh  !    bitter   woe   I  've   tasted. 
Whence   hast   thou   hither   hasted  ? " 

"  Near   midnight   't  is,   we   saddle   steed  ; 
From    Boehmen   I   rode    hither  : 
Ere   I   could   mount,   't  was   late   indeed, 
And   we   go  back   together.** 


BURGER'S  LENORE.  77 

"  O    William,   first   a   moment   stay  : 

The    blast   roars   through    the    hawthorn   spray: 

Come    to   my   arms,   heart-dearest ! 

Here    no    cold    wind    thoti    fearest." 

"  Through  hawthorn  spray  let  fierce  blasts  roar, 

And    ravage,    helter-skelter  ! 

The    wild    steed   paws,    and    clinks    the    spur; 

I   dare    not    here    seek   shelter. 

Come,  dress  thee  :  spring  and  swing,  with  speed, 

Behind   me,    here,   upon    my    steed. 

A   hundred   miles    I    take    thee, 

This    day    my   bride    to    make    thee." 

"  Alas  !    a   hundred   miles    would'st   thou 

Bear   me,    this   day,   to   bridal  ? 

Hark,    hark  !     the    clock    is    clanging    now  ; 

Eleven    struck  :     'T  is   idle  !  " 

"  Look  far  ;    look  near ;    the  moon  shines   clear 

We   and    the    dead   ride    fast,    my   dear  ; 

I    gage,    ere   night's    at   highest, 

Thou    in   thy   bride-bed   liest." 


78 


"  Say   on,    where    is    thy   chamber,   dear  ? 

What   bride-bed    dost   thou    tender  ? " 

"  Still,   cool   and   small  ;    far,    far   from    here  ; 

Six   wide   boards   and   two    slender." 

"  Hast   room   for   me  ?  "     "  For   thee   and   me 

Come,    dress    thee  :    mount  ;    I   stay  for  thee. 

The   marriage-guests    have    waited  : 

We-  must   not   be   belated." 

Fairly   she    dressed   her,    sprang   and    swung 
Herself  to   horse   behind   him  ; 
Fast   to   the    well-loved   rider   clung, 
And   with   white   arms    entwined   him. 
Then   hurtling   off,    with    leap   and   bound, 
At   whistling   speed   they    scoured    the   ground, 
Till   horse   and   rider    panted, 
And   sparks   and   dust   far   slanted. 

On    this   and   on    the    other    hand, 
How    flew   the    plains    and   ridges  ; 
Hillock   and   rock    and   meadow-land  ; 
How    thundered   all   the   bridges  ! 


BURGER'S  LENORE.  79 

"  My  love,  dost  fear  ?     The  moon  shines  clear  : 
Hurrah  !     The   dead   ride   fast,   my   dear  ! 
My   love,   dost   fear   the    dead    men  ? " 
"  Ah,   no  !    yet   leave   the   dead   men  ! ' 

What   clang   and   song   swept   there   along, 

Where   the   foul   ravens   flaunted  ? 

Hark  !    death-bell  clang  !    Hark  !    funeral-song ! 

"  Bear   on    the    dead  ! "    is    chanted. 

And   nearer   drew   a   funeral-train : 

Coffin   and   bier   came    on,    amain  : 

Their   song   the   dark    quire   pitches 

Like   the   frogs'   cry   in   ditches. 

"  Nay,   bury   after   midnight-tide, 

With    clang   and   song   and    weeping  : 

I   bear   me   home   my   fair   young   bride  : 

Come   to   our   merry-keeping. 

Come  clerk  !    come  here  !   your   quire  all  bring, 

Come    all,   the   bridal-song   to    sing, 

Come,    priest,    the   blessing   say    us 

Ere   we   in   bride-bed    lay   us." 


80  BURGER'S  LENORE. 

Ceased   clang   and   song  ;    the   bier   was    gone : 

They    came   as   they   were   bidden, 

And,   hurry-skurry,   trampled    on 

Fast   as   the    steed    was   ridden. 

And   ever   on,    with   leap    and   bound, 

At   whistling    speed   they    scoured   the    ground  ; 

Both   horse   and   rider   panted,  . 

And   sparks   and   dust   far   slanted. 

How   flew,   on   right,   how   flew,    on   left, 
Hills,    trees,   and    hedged   spaces  ! 
How   flew,   on   left    and   right   and   left, 
Towns,   cities,    dwelling-places  ! 
"  My   love,   dost   fear  ?     The   moon    shines    clear 
Hurrah  !      The    dead    ride    well,   my    dear  ; 
My   love,    dost   fear   the    dead   men  ? " 
11  Ah  !    let   them   rest,   the    dead   men  !  " 

See   there  !     see   there  !     On   gallows-height, 
Dance    round   the    wheel's    curst    swivel, 
Half-seen   within   the    moon's   pale   light, 
Spectres,   in   airy   revel. 


BURGER'S  LENORE.  81 

"  Sasa  !    ye    spectres.      Here  !    come    here  ! 
Come,    spectres,    come,   and   follow    near, 
Our    wedding   reels    to    number 
Ere    we   lie    down   to    slumber." 

And    lo  !    the    spectres,    rush,    rush,    rush  ! 

Behind    the    wild   train   hurtle, 

As    whirls    the    storm-wind's   sudden  gush 

Through    withered   leaves   of  myrtle. 

And   on   and   on,    with    leap    and    bound, 

At   whistling   speed    they   scoured    the   ground; 

Both    horse    and   rider   panted, 

And   sparks    and    dust   far   slanted. 

How   flew   the    scenes    in    moonlight   spread  ! 

How   into   farness    flitted  ! 

And   how,   their    places    overhead, 

The    sky   and    planets    quitted  ! 

"  My   love,    dost   fear  ?      The    moon    shines   clear ; 

Hurrah  !      The    dead   ride    well,    my   dear ; 

My   love,    dost   fear   the    dead    men  ? " 

"  Ah,    woe  !      Let   rest   the    dead    men  !  " 


82  BURGER'S  LENORE. 

"  Steed,    steed  !    metliinks    the   cock  crows  there  ; 

Soon    will    the    sands    be   wasted  ; 

Steed,    steed  !    I   scent   the    morning   air ; 

Haste,    as    thou   hast   not   hasted  ! 

'Tis   o'er,   'tis   o'er!      Our   course   is    o'er! 

The   chamber   stands   with   open    door; 

The   dead   ride    wondrous    races  ; 

Here,   here,   we   find   our   places." 

Against   an   iron   churchyard    door, 

The   furious   courser   battered  : 

Its    clamps   fell   loose,   the    shock   before, 

And   post   and   bar   were    shattered. 

Its    clanking   leaves    wide   open    flew, 

And   o'er    the   graves   the   train    swept   through. 

Gravestones   were   seen   to   glimmer 

Round   in    the   moon's   pale   shimmer. 

See,   see  !      An    instant   scarce    can   flit, 
Ere,   hoo  !    a   fearful   wonder  ! 
The   rider's   flesh,   all   bit   by    bit, 
Like    cinders    fell   asunder. 


BURGER'S  LENORE.  83 

Like   kernel   bare,    without   the   hull, 
His    head   became    a   naked   skull  ; 
His   body   shrunk    and   narrow, 
With   hour-glass   and    with   arrow. 

Snorted   the   steed,   and   madly   reared  ; 

Fierce   fiery   flashes   spurted  ; 

Then   hey !    sank    down   and   disappeared. 

And   she   lay   there   deserted. 

A   howl,    a   howl   from    out   the   lift  ! 

A   yell   from   forth   each   grave's    deep   rift  ! 

Lenora's    spirit   shivers  : 

'Twixt   death   and   life   it   quivers. 

Now    featly   danced,   in   moonlight-glance. 

All   round   about   in   mazes, 

The   spectre-forms    a   fetter-dance, 

And   howled   in    such-like    phrases  ; 

"  Be   meek,  though   heart   should   break   in    twain. 

Nor   dare   thy    God   in   heaven   arraign. 

Thy    dust   to    this    still   city  ! 

God   show   thy    soul   his    pity  ! " 

June,   1846. 


THE  BARREN  FIELD. 

HERE    I    labor,   weak   and   lone, 
Ever,    ever    sowing   seed  ; 
Ever    tending   what   is    sown  : 
Little    is   my   gain,    indeed. 

Weary   day   and   restless   night 
Follow    in    an    endless    round  ; 
Wastes   my   little   human    might  : 
Soon   my   place    will   not   be    found. 

Why   so   stubborn   is   my   field  ? 
Why   does   little   fruit   appear  ? 
What   an   hundred-fold   should    yield, 
Now   goes   barren   all   the   year. 

Rank    weeds    crowd    and  jostle    there, 
Nodding   vainly   in   the    sun  : 


THE    BARREN    FIELD.  85 

But   the   plants,   for   which    I    care, 
I   may   till   them,   one   by   one. 

After   all    the    sun   and   rain, 
Weak   and   yellow    drooping   things, 
From    the    lean    earth,    turned   in    vain, 
These    are    all   my   labor    wrings  ! 

Oh,   my    Lord,    the   field   is    Thine  : 
Why    do    I,    with    empty    pride, 
Call   the   little   garden   mine, 
When   my    work   is    Thine,   beside? 

If  I   claim   it   for    my    own, 

Thou    wilt    give   me    its   poor   gain  ; 

And,    at   harvest,    I,    alone, 

May   bring   fruits    to    Thee   in    vain. 

If  I   give    myself  to    Thee 

For   Thy    work,    all   poor   and    mean, 

As    Thou    pleasest   it   shall   be, 

If  I   much    or   little    dean  : 


86  THE    BARREN    FIELD. 

Yet    Thou    wilt    not    spurn    my    toil, 
Or  my    offering,   at   the   last, 
If,   from   off  this    meagre    soil, 
At   Thy   feet   my    all   is    cast. 

Other   work   for   man   is    none, 
But   to    do    the    Master's    will  ; 
Wet   with   rain,   or   parched    with    sun, 
Meekly   I    Thy    garden   till. 

April  28,  1849. 


CHRIST'S    LEGACY. 

WHO  deems  that  Holy  Church  has  lost 
The  priceless  gift  the  Saviour  gave  ? 
Or,  as  an  idle  bauble,  tost 

Beneath  the  curst  world's  hungry  wave, 
Her  keys  that,  all  this  wide  world  o'er, 
Oped  to  man's  want  God's  spirit-store  ? 
That  now  the  Kingdom  is  but  earth  alone 
Where  man's  poor  sight  and  wisdom  seek  their  ow 

Who  deems  that  hidden  Paradise,  — 

Its  sweet  cool  shades,  its  living  streams, 
Its  lustrous  air,  from  seraphs'  eyes 
Radiant  with  interwoven  beams, 
And  the  eternal  Light  divine 
Filling  up  all  with  changeless  shine,  — 
That  these,  and  converse  with  the  duellers  there, 
To  men  in  spirit  are  not  free  as  air  ? 


88  CHRIST'S   LEGACY. 

That  His  blest  kingdom,  —  which,  Christ  said, 

Should  ever  stand  while  earth  doth  stand  ; 
And,  when  the  last  flames,  fierce  and  red, 
Should  melt  and  burn  up  sea  and  land, 
Transfigured  through  those  fires  should  glow 
Thenceforth  no  earthliness  to  know,  — 
That  this  hath  not  one,  only,  changeless  frame, 
One  as  the  Lord  :    on  earth,  in  heaven,  the  same  ? 

Or  that  the  Body  of  the  Lord, 

The  Godhead  dwelling  in  the  flesh,  — 
Is  not,  to  us,  as  when  that  Word 
In  human  nature  dwelt  afresh  ? 
Or  that  God's  fulness,  now,  as  then, 
Doth  not  inhabit  in  us  men, 
A  fulness  that  in  each  of  us  hath  place 
Of  grace  according  to  our  growth  in  grace  ? 

Oh  !    is  not  God  the  selfsame  now 

As  when  he  put  on  human  frame  ? 
His  Body  is  the   Church  :    and  how 

Is  this,  his  Body,  not  the  same  ? 


CHRIST'S   LEGACY.  89 

It  is  the  same  where'er  Faith  is  : 

Christ  manifests  himself  in  His  : 

Where  Faith  is  not,  to  them  is  Christ  no  more 

Indwelling,  in  the  Spirit,  as  of  yore. 

This  glorious  kingdom  —  rich  within, 
And  glowing  with  all  spirit-powers  — 

There  is  no  cause,  but  each  man's  sin, 
If  all  its  treasures  be  not  ours  : 

Our  priests  are  gifted  with  the  Word, 

And  every  member  of  the   Lord 

Hath  his  own  measure  of  the  Holy   Ghost  : 

In  the  most  humble  and  obedient,  most. 

Aiid  in  the  Spirit,  oh,    what  height 

The  feet  of  faithful  men  do  mount  ! 
There  glossy  slopes  flow  all  with  light, 

And  vales  are  rich  with  stream  and  fount. 
The  pure  see  God  on  every  side  ; 
Them  spirits  gently  serve  and  guide, 
While  earth,  to  them,  is  sorrow,  shame,  and  ill, 
The  church  is  heaven  on  earth,  about  them  still. 


90  CHRIST'S   LEGACY. 

Sweet  mysteries  to  them  that  love, 
Do  lead  to  that  eye  hath  not  seen  ; 

An  open  sky  is  spread  above 

Wherein  no  cloud  hath  ever  been. 

The  Word  wells  full  in  every  heart  ; 

Deep  calleth  unto  deep,  apart  ; 

And  Love,  God's  being,  maketh  them  all  one 

In  Him,  the  Father,  who  are  in  the  Son. 


1849. 


A    BURIAL-HYMN. 

TO     BE     SUNG     ON    THE     WAY    TO     THE     GRAVE. 

WE  bring  Thee,  Lord,  this  little  dust 

To  lay  in  earth  away  : 
In  thy  sure  watch  we  meekly  trust 

To  keep  it  for  the  Day. 

Thy  will  be  done  !      This  dust,  all  dead, 

Must  lose  its  fairer  form, 
And  graees  in  the  deep  grave  shed 

That  almost  yet  are  warm. 

We  thank  Thee  for  the  little  while 

Our  child  lived  here  in  love, 
To  glad  a  narrow  place  with  smiles 

As  from  Thy  house  above. 

And  more,  oh  !    we  must  thank  Thee  more 

That  dew  of  upper  day 
Baptized  his  earthly  being  o'er, 

And  spirit  hallowed  clay. 


TO   GOD,  MOST  HIGH. 

0  MY  Lord,  I  have  but  Thee  ; 
Other  friends  are  faint  and  few, 
To  myself  I  am  not  true  ; 
Yet,  my  God,  Thou  lovest  me. 

1  am  poor  and  have  no  more 
But  Thy  love  within  my  heart  ; 
Earth  shall  never  tear  apart 
That  which  is  my  hidden  store. 

Many,  many  doubts  and  fears, 
I  have  many  pains  and  cares  ; 
But  Thou  comest,  at  unawares, 
And  I  see  Thee  through  my  tears. 

I  would  never  be  my  own, 

Nor  on  friends  my  heart-strings  twine  ; 

I  do  seek  to  be  but  Thine, 

And  to  love  but  Thee  alone. 


TO    GOD   MOST   HIGH.  93 

Jesus  !    while  Thy  cross  I  see, 
Though  my  heart  do  bleed  with  woe, 
By  those  blessed  streams  I  know, 
Blood  of  Thine  was  shed  for  me. 

0  my  Lord  !     Be  Thou  my  guide  ; 
Let  me  hold  Thee  by  the  hand, 
Then,  in  drear  and  barren  land, 

1  will  seek  no  friend  beside. 

January  7,  1848. 


LOVE   DISPOSED   OF. 

HERE  goes  Love  !     Now  cut  him  clear, 

A  weight  about  his  neck  : 

If  he  linger  longer  here, 

Our  ship   will   be  a   wreck. 

Overboard  !     Overboard  ! 

Down  let  him   go  ! 

In  the  deep  he   may   sleep, 

Where   the   corals   grow. 

He  said   he  'd  woo  the  gentle  breeze, 

A  bright  tear  in  her  eye  ; 

But  she   was  false   or  hard  to  please, 

Or  he  has  told  a  lie. 

Overboard  !     Overboard  ! 

Down  in  the  sea 

He  may  find  a  truer  mind, 

Where  the   mermaids  be. 


LOVE    DISPOSED     OF.  95 

He   sang  us   many  a  merry  song 
While   the  breeze   was  kind  : 
But  he   has  been  lamenting  long 
The  falseness   of  the  wind. 
Overboard  !     Overboard  ! 
Under  the   wave 

Let  him   sing   where   smooth  shells   ring 
In  the  ocean's   cave. 

He  may  struggle  ;    he   may  weep  ; 

We'll  be  stern   and  cold  ; 

His   grief  will  find,   within   the   deep, 

More   tears   than   can  be   told. 

He  has   gone   overboard  I 

We   will  float  on  ; 

We    shall   find   a   truer   wind 

Now   that   he   is  gone. 

1839. 


TO    MY    OLD    PARISHIONERS, 

ON     WRITING    A     TALE     OF     NEWFOUNDLAND. 

THE  parish-priest  that  hath  his   charge, 

Beside   the  stormy  sea, 

Where  howling   tempests   stalk   at  large, 

And  many    an    iceberg,  as   a  barge, 

Moors   where   the   shallows   be  ; 

Where    winter's   sky,  with   sudden   gust, 

Is   traversed    to   and   fro, 

And   storm-clouds,   broken   up   as   dust, 

Fill   earth   all  deep    with   snow, 

Hath  much  to   speak  of  hardy   men 

That  face   the  wild   sea-gale, 

And  loving  hearts   made   dreary,   when 

The   waiting   eyes   must  fail, 

That  from   the   cliffs  their   far   search  strain 

To   see,   slow-toiling  home   again, 

The  long-familiar  sail 

That  shall  not   come  ;    for  it  is   tost 

Like  drifting   weed   above   the   lost, 


TO   MY   OLD   PARISHIONERS.  97 

Who   down   and   down,   through    soundless   deep. 

Have   found  a  pathway,   sheer  and   steep, 

And  at   the  foot  shall  lie   and   sleep, 

While  long  the  hamlet's   tale 

Lingers   upon   their  unknown   fate, 

And,  night  by  night,  the  fire  burns  late 

In   one   sad,   silent  cot, 

Where   wife   and   children    spread   their  hands 

And   cower  above   the   wasting  brands, 

And  the  poor  house-dog   understands, 

Why  they  that  went  come   not. 

Often  when  holy  prayers  are  said 
Beside  a  new-made  grave, 
Some  mother  waileth  for  her  dead  ; 
She  never  held  his  heavy  head 
And   mother's   tears   upon  it   shed 
Ere  dust  to  dust  she  gave. 
He  lieth  where  no  foot  may  tread, 
No  little  ones  may   there   be  led, 
Where  long,  lank  ocean-weeds   are    spread, 
Beneath  the  shifting  wave. 
7 


98  TO   MY    OLD   PARISHIONERS. 

Sometimes,  before  accustomed  date, 

A  boat  comes  lonely  back,  — 

No  colors  flaunt,  in  joyful  state, 

Above  her  silent  track  : 

She  bringeth  not  accustomed  freight, 

But  laboreth   with    some  strange  weight  : 

The  air  is   chill  and   desolate 

That  breathes  around   her   way 

As  from  the  iceberg,   cold   and  lone, 

A  stern,   far-reaching  chill   is   thrown 

Abroad  upon  the   day. 

The   skipper,  from  the    helm,  looks  on 

With  fixed  eye  and  visage   wan, 

And  hath  no  word  to  say. 

The   neighbors,  gathered  on  the  beach, 

Gaze  wistfully  ;    and,   each   to  each, 

Breaking  long  pauses  in  their  speech, 

Conjecture,   as   they  may. 

Some   one  has  dreamed,  within  the  night, 

"  The  minister,  in  clothing   white, 

Beside  a  grave  did  stand, 

With   head  all  bare,  as  reading  prayer, 

He  held  his  book  in  hand. 


TO    MY   OLD    PARISHIONERS.  99 

Dark  mourners,  bending  low   around, 

Wetted  with  silent  tears   the  ground 

And  the   rough  grave-pit   scanned. 

Over-against  them,  on  the  east, 

Were  angel-forms,  whereof  the  least 

Was   glorious   and  grand. 

And,  at  the   words,  one  scattered  dust, 

With   bright  hand  on   the   coffin's   crust, 

And  forth  a  form   as   of  the  Just, 

Went   with   them   to   their   land." 

The   simple   men,   that  hear  this   dream, 

Ask  reverent  questions,  for  they  deem 

Such  things,   how   strange   soe'er   they  seem, 

No  matter  for  a  smile. 

Now   say   they,  as   the  boat   sweeps   by, 

"  The  skipper's   eldest  son   doth   lie 

Coffined   within  her,  for  his   eye 

Looked   spirit-like,  erewhile." 

Ay,    ay  !     And  it  is   even   so  ! 

Soon  flits  about   the   news  of  woe  : 

"  When  the   Lord's  day   comes  round, 

The  long  procession,   sad   and   slow, 

Mounting   the   churchyard  hill  shall  go, 


100  TO   MY    OLD   PARISHIONERS. 

To  lay   the  young  man's  body  lowr 
In   consecrated  ground." 

Such  are  full-frequent   things  with  those 

That  dwell  beside   the   sea  : 

Whose   sails  feel  every   wind  that  blows, 

If  fair  or  foul  it  be. 

Dear  patient  fisherman  !    for  you 

Whom  late   I  lived  among, 

My  heart,   that  loved   you,  yearns   anew, 

And  often  pass  before   rny  view 

The  forms  of  old  and  young. 

For  love  of  you   this  tale   I  tell 

Of  things  now   long   agone  ; 

And  as  the  dark  and  heavy  swell 

Of  memory  heaves   on, 

With  wrecks  of  loves  once  builded   well 

As  if  to  live  for  aye, 

Ye  may  shed  tears  like  those   which  fell 

From  him   that   wrote  this   lay 

And   who  again  now  says  farewell  ! 

As   he   will  always  pray. 

February,   1848. 


THE   TEMPTER  AT  THE   SIDE. 

SEEST  thou  the  shadow  dogging  at  thy  feet, 

Without  the  breath  of  any  at  thy  side  ? 

Lo  !    there  is  one  whom  thou  shalt  never  meet 

Though  thou  do  travel  earth,  both  long  and  wide  ; 

Never  in  lonely  field,  —  in  crowded  street,  — 

In  joy  or  grief:    whatever  thee  betide, 

To  meet  thee  face  to  face,  nowhere  shall  he  abide. 

Seest  thou  it  at  thy  feet  ? 

Knovv'st  thou  him  at  thy  side  ? 

He  has  been  nigh  thee  since  thy  tottering  pace 
First  faltered,  doubtful,  from  thy  mother's  hand  ; 
Anigh  thee,  yet,  he  hath  his  constant  place, 
Now  that  with  strong  men  thou  hast  taken  stand. 
Go  as  thou  wilt,  thou  winnest  not  the  race  ; 
Stay  where  thou  wilt,  in  this  or  farthest  land, 
Untired  he  leaves  thee  not,  whose  face  thou  hast  not 
scanned. 


102  THE   TEMPTER   AT   THE    SIDE. 

H«-,  ever  bath  hh  plaoe  : 
Ever  is  he  at  hand. 


Albeit  in  the  growing  time  of  night 

When  the  green  things  are  starting  everywhere, 

And  bud  and  leaf,  sure  of  its  tiny  right, 

Stretches  towards  its  God  for  its  blest  share, 

Then  on  thy  longing  mind  celestial  might 

Has  lighted  down,  and  with  quick  vigor  there 

Has  settled  deep  and  still,  —  yet,  not  the  less,  beware ! 

Not  present  to  thy  sight, 

The  dark  one  loitered  there. 

Albeit  in  the  stir  and  throng  of  men, 

Catching  warm  influence  from  the  glance  of  eye, 

And  thrill  of  words,  that  full  and  fragrant,  then, 

Go  kindling  to  the  heart,  ere  they  will  die, 

Thou  hast  not   slumbered,  —  nor  been  coward,  when, 

If  need  were,  thy  lone  voice  must  rise  on  high, 

And  thou  go  lone   through   all,  —  yet   then  that  One 

was  nigh, 

Amid  the  crowd  of  men 
On  thee  he  kept  his  eye. 


THE    TEMPTER   AT   THE    SIDE.  103 

Albeit  in  the  home's  dear  sunny  scene, 
Where  low  and  homelike  sounds,  of  birds  and  bees, 
Float  ever,  streaming   through  that  sea  of  sheen 
And  wide  peace   bounds   the   world's   strange  haunts 

from  thee  : 

In   that,  —  man's  noblest  place,  —  thy  soul  has  been 
Like  a  blest  soul,  familiar  and  at  ease, 
Sharing  a  heavenly  love  that  sin  could  never  seize, 
He  was  in  that  pure  scene, 
Though  thou  wast  all  at  ease. 

Bethink  thee  how  thy  well-kept  heart  has  known 
Quick-starting  thoughts,  a  frightful,  poisonous  growth  ; 
Bethink  thee  how  suggestions  not  thine  own 
Have  crept  and  overcome  it,  slow  and  loth  ; 
How  a  foul  breath,  o'er  its  bright  vision  blown, 
Has  buried  all  in  the  thick  fog  of  sloth  : 
Dost   thou    not   know    him,  yet,  tempter   and    sharer, 

both? 

He  all  thy  moods  has  known, 
When  willing  and  when  loth. 

God  set  that  shadow  dogging  at  thy  feet, 
To  warn  thee  one   was  ever  at  thy  side 


104  THE    TEMPTER   AT   THE    SIDE. 

Whate'er  thy  state,  to  pour  in  promptings  meet 
From  heavenly-guided  life  to  draw  thee  wide. 
Therefore  by  day  that  shade  doth  near  thee  fleet, 
Nor  in  the  night  that  shadow  is  denied 
When  for  God's  light  of  day  man's  light  has  been 

supplied  : 

Dark  shadow  at  thy  feet, 
Dark  foe  is  at  thy  side. 

November  3  and  4,  1847. 


A   RHYME   READ  BY   TWO   LOVERS. 

THE  earth,  without,  was  dark  and  very  still  : 

No  loving  moon  leaned  downwards  from  the  night 

To  draw  forth,  out  of  darkness,  vale  and  hill, 

And  wooded  town,  and  far  stream  glistening  white  ; 

And  with  her  patient,  maiden-modest  skill, 

Set  the  whole  silent  scene  before  her  sight  ; 

And  the  near  park 

Was  still  and  dark, 

And  night  and  stillness,  more  than  all 

Clung  to  the  trees  beside  the  wet  house-wall. 

No  insect's  hum,  nor  bat-wing's  whirring  stroke, 

Nor  sudden  cry  the  night's  thick  stillness  broke. 

Cool  through  the  casement  came  light  evening  airs 
From  off  the  meadows  wet  with  summer-rain  : 
At  times  a  rain-drop,  shaken  unawares, 
Dripped  from  its  hold,  held  long  but  held  in  vain. 
The  gauzy  curtain,  flowered,  slight  and  frail, 
Swelled   with  the  soft  air,  like  a  pleasure-sail  ; 


106     A  RHYME  READ  BY  TWO  LOVERS. 

And,  in  the  room,  a  rich,  soft  radiance  fell 

From  the  high,  shaded  lamp,  on  graceful  things 

Which  woman  knows  to  choose  and  set  so  well 

That  from  her  mere  warm  touch  a  new  grace  clings  ; 

And  now,  in  that  most  still  of  summer  eves, 

Within  the  circle  of  the  lamp's  mild  glow, 

A  youth  and  maiden  turned  the  pictured  leaves 

Of  a  fair  book  ;    their  two  heads  bending  so 

That  each  hears  how  the  other's  young  heart  heaves : 

(Ah  !    think  we  of  our  own  loves,  long  ago  ?) 

Her  wreathed,  glossy  hair  now  brushed  his  cheek  ; 

Now  their  quick  eyes,  by  one  sure,  common  thrill. 

Rose  toward  each  other's,  and  they  did  not  speak, 

For  strongest,  quick-winged  speech 

Has  never  learned  to  reach 

Where    love's    fair    meaning    looks    from    cloudless 

height. 
Then    she    first    dropped  her    slow  lids,  strong  and 

meek, 

And  both  turned  to  their  task,  as  with  one  will  ; 
For  two  like  these,  knowing  that  subtile  might 
Fills  all  their  features  to  the  utmost  grace, 
Fear  to  show  this  beside  each  other's  sight  ; 


A    RHYME   READ    BY    TWO    LOVERS.  107 

Scarce  themselves  dare  to  read  other's  face  ; 
For  their  deep  lives  have  surely  mined,  below. 
Each  toward  the  other,  through  the  wall  between, 
Which  soon  shall  fall,  at  some  slight,  sudden  blow, 
And  one  wide  love  be  where  two  hearts  have  been. 
O  dear  young  love  !      Young  love  most  bright  ! 
Thou  fairest  thing  this  earth  can  show  ! 
Old  eyes  will  moisten  at  the  sight, 
Old  hearts  will  feel  the  once-known  glow ! 

A  comely  lady  sat  apart  ; 

It  might  be  she  was  deep  in  thought ; 

It  might  be  that  her  very  heart 

Must  go  with  what  her  fingers  wrought  ; 

Never  by  any  chance 

Her  calm,  wise  matron-glance 

That  happy  scene  of  young  love  sought. 

A  child,  as  fresh  as  that  night's  breeze, 
Bright  as  the  gone  day's  light, 
Holding  her  own  book  on  her  knees, 
Beneath  her  fast-fixed  sight, 
With  many  a  half-frayed  golden  curl, 


108  A    RHYME   READ    BY   TWO    LOVERS. 

Sat  near  the  lover's  seat  : 

Through  sudden  leap  and  race  and  whirl, 

Chasing  some  story  fleet, 

Or  asking  oft,  with  knitted  brow, 

The  little-heeding  lovers,  how 

The  words  and  sense  could  meet. 

Her  little  unripe  heart  recks  less 

Of  their  delicious  silentness. 

The  maiden's  father,  too,  whate'er 

His  stately  thoughts  or  fancies  were, 

Seemed,  by  all  senses  save  of  sight, 

(Unlike  the  mother,  calm  and  wise,) 

Drawn  to  that  circle  of  the  light 

Where  the  two  felt  each  other's  eyes. 

And  so,  in  that  most  still  of  summer-eves, 

The  youth  and  maiden  turned  their  pictured  leaves. 

"  Read  to  me  here,"  she  said,  and  laid  her  hand, 
Her  soft,  warm  hand,  on  his,  to  point  him  where  : 
"  Of  «  The  Night's   Guest,'  that  I  may  understand 
Why  there  is  pictured  here  a  churchyard  bare 
With  rounded  graves  and  tombs  within  the  wall 


A    RHYME   READ    BY    TWO    LOVERS.  109 

And  the  tall,  shadowing  yew-trees  over  all. 
Why  Death  stands  here,  within  this  open  door, 
That  the  old  man  waits,  wearily,  before." 
The  youth  glanced  at  the  picture  while  she  said 
Her  gentle  words,  —  and  longer,  —  and  then  read  : 


THE  NIGHT'S   GUEST. 

IN  the   evening,   cold    and   dreary, 
Knock eth   one   at   hostel-door, 

All   the    way    looks    dark    before 
As   the    way    behind   was    weary. 

"  Host  !     Hast   thou   a   chamber   quiet  ? 

I   have   come   a   weary    way : 
Fain    would    rest    till    early   day, 

Far   from    wicked    din    of  riot." 

"  I   have    many   a   quiet   chamber, 
Out   of  reach  of  human    call  : 

And   upon    the    outer    wall 

Scented   briar   and   cypress    clamber." 


110  A  RHYME    READ    BY    TWO    LOVERS. 

"  Quick !    O    Friend !    I   may    not    tarry, 
I   am   all   with   toil   forespent  : 

And   my   aching   knees   are   bent 
With   the    weary   weight    I   carry." 

Rough   voiced    was  the    Host   and   surly, 
Yet   he   spake   in   softened   tone  : 

"  Hast   a   load,   and   art   alone  ? 
Go   not   to   thy   rest  so   early." 

"  Host,   I   am   with   travel   broken  : 
Slumber   weigheth   on   my    eyes  : 

Yet   I   take   in   courteous   wise 

What  in   courteous  wise    was   spoken. 

"  Lo  !    the   load,   that  doth   me   cumber, 
'T  is   but   this  my  body's   weight ; 

I   have   borne   it   far   and   late ; 
Now   I   long   for   restful   slumber." 

"  Yet   I  give    but  friendly    warning," 
Said   the   Host  in   softened   tone  ; 

u  Why,   then,   wilt   thou   go   alone, 

Since  thou   goest  at   early   morning  ?  " 


A    RHYME    READ    BY    TWO   LOVERS.  Ill 

"  Host  !    I   go   not   hence  unfriended, 

I   have   comrades   for   the    way. 
Now  no   longer   bid   me    stay ; 

Let   this   longsome  day   be   ended." 

"  Yea  !    but   I   have   chambers   many, 
Meet   for   many   a   different   guest  ; 

One   in   hallowed   bed    hath    rest, 
One   lies   down   unblest  of  any." 

"  Not   so   far   I   come   unshriven  ; 

Weeping   sore   I   sought   release  : 
To   my   soul   was   spoken   peace  ; 

Pledges   twain  to   me   were   given." 

"  Yet  forgive   me  :    though   thou   seekest, 
Weary,   nought   but   welcome    rest, 

Take   my    warning,    O   my    Guest, 

Prove   those   things   whereof  thou   speakest. 

"  Art   thou   of  the    Holy   number  ? 

Dost    thou   know   the   Blessed    Lord  '? 
Canst   thou   give    the    Holy    Word  ? 

Thou  in    hallowed   bed   shalt   slumber." 


112  A    RHYME    READ    BY    TWO    LOVERS. 

"  I  may  claim  by  Holy  Mother, 

For  the  Blood  that  stained  the  Tree  ; 

And  the  Word  she  gave  to  me 
Is,  The  Cross  :  I  know  no  other." 

"  Now   no   more   I   may  deny   thee  ; 

Chide    me    not,   mine   honored   guest, 
That   I   kept   thee    from   thy  rest  •, 

'T  was   the   King   that   bade   me   try   thee. 

"  Waiteth   now   thy   quiet   chamber, 
Thou   wilt   lie   in   hallowed   bed, 

Cross's    sign   above   thy   head, 

O'er   the    wall   shall   roses   clamber." 

"  Thou   hast   well   those   pledges   taken  — 
Be   thy   slumber   calm   and   sweet, 

Till  at   early  day,  thou   greet 

Him   whose   voice    shall   thee    awaken." 

So   with  courteous   word   and   gesture 
Went   the  host   before   his   guest : 

Lighted  him   to   place    of  rest  : 

Help'd   him   doff  his   soiled   vesture. 


A   RHYME   READ   BY   TWO    LOVERS.  113 

Laid   him  down   in   chamber   quiet, 
He   that   came   from   weary   way, 

Resting   until   early   day, 

Far  from   wicked   din   of  riot.. 

The  two  were  graver  when  the  tale  was  done  : 

Then  said  the  maiden,  gently,  "  But  one  thing, 

One  human  thing,  shall  last  ;    oh,  surely  one  ! " 

And  he  said  "  Yes  !    no  changing  time  can  bring 

A  change  to  this  ! "     So  said  he  for  her  ear  ; 

And  when  they  parted,  wishing,  each,  "  Good  night ! " 

Again  she  said,  "  Life's  journey  is  not  drear  : 

I  see  a  pathway  long  and  very  bright." 

So  said  she,  with  her  voice  most  kind  and  dear, 

And  their  two  loves  met  at  each  other's  lip. 

Can  life  be  drear  that  has  such  fellowship  ? 

"  If  it  be  God's  —  "  she  said,  and  she  was  right  : 

Peace  to  thee,  O  dear  love  !     Good  night !     Good 

night  ! 

For  not  till  youth,  and  life,  and  death,  is  o'er, 
Shall  this  life's  love,  made  heavenly,  be  no  more. 
And  the  short  story  of  the  tired  Night's  Guest 
Shows  how  that  love  at  even  goes  to  rest. 

1847,   1859. 


THE  BRAVE   OLD   SHIP,  THE   ORIENT. 

WOE    for   the   brave   ship    Orient  ! 

Woe   for   the   old   ship   Orient  ! 

For  in   broad,  broad   light,  and    with    land    in    sight, 

Where   the   waters   bubbled   white, 

One  great  sharp  shriek  !     One  shudder  of  affright !  — 

And  — 

down  went  the  brave  old  ship,  the  Orient  ! 

It  was   the  fairest  day  in  the  merry  month  of  May, 

And   sleepiness   had    settled   on   the   seas  ; 

And  we  had  our  white  sail  set,  high  up,  and  higher 

yet, 

And   our  flag  flashed  and  fluttered  at  its   ease  ; 
The    Cross  of  St.    George,  that  in  mountain   and  in 

gorge,  — 

On   the   hot   and   dusty   plain,  — 
On   the   tiresome,   trackless   main,  — 
Conquering   out,  —  conquering   home   again, — 
Had   flamed,   the   world   over,   on   the   breeze. 


THE    BRAVE    OLD     SHIP,    THE    ORIENT.        115 

Ours   was   the   far-famed   Albion, 

And   she   had    her   best   look   of    might   and   beauty 

on, 

As   she   swept   across   the   seas   that   day. 
The   wind   was   fair   and    soft,   both   alow   and   aloft 
And   we   wore   the    even   hours   away. 

The    steadying   sun   heaved    up,    as    day   drew   on, 

And   there   grew   a   long   swell   of  the   sea. 

And,   first   in   upper   air,    then   under,   everywhere, 

From    the   topmost   towering   sail 

Down,    down    to   quarter-rail, 

The   wind   began   to   breathe   more   free. 

It   was    soon    to   breathe    ks    last, 

For   a   wild   and   bitter   blast 

Was   the    master  of  that    stormy   day   to   be. 

"  Ho  !     Hilloa  !     A    sail !  "    was    the   topman's   hail  : 

"  A   sail,   hull-down   upon    our   lee ! " 

Then    with   sea-glass    to   his    eye, 

And   his   gray   locks    blowing   by, 

The   Admiral    sought   what   she    might   be. 

And   from   top,   and   from    deck, 


116         THE    BRAVE    OLD    SHIP,   THE   ORIENT. 

Was   it   ship?      Was   it   wreck?      A    far-off,    far-off 

speck, 
Of  a   sudden   we   found   upon   our   lee. 

On   the   round   waters    wide,  floated   no  thing  beside, 

But   we   and   the    stranger   sail  : 

And   a    hazy   sky,    that   threatened   storm, 

Came    coating   the   heaven   so   blue   and   warm, 

And   ahead    hung   the    portent  of  a   gale  ; 

A   black   bank   hanging   there 

When   the    order   came,    to   wear, 

Was   remembered,    ever   after,   in   the   tale. 

Across   the   long,    slow   swell 

That   scarcely   rose   and   fell, 

The    wind   began    to   blow   out   of  the    cloud ; 

And    scarce    an    hour   was   gone    ere    the    gale    was 

fairly   on, 

And   through   our   strained   rigging   howled   aloud. 
Before  the  stormy  wind,  that  was  maddening  behind, 
We    gathered   in    our    canvas    farthest   spread. 
Black    clouds   had    started   out 
From    the    heavens    all   about, 


THE   BRAVE   OLD    SHIP,   THE    ORIENT.  117 

And   the    welkin   grew   all   black   overhead. 

But    though    stronger    and    more    strong 

The   fierce   gale   rushed   along, 

The    stranger   brought   her   old    wind  in   her   breast. 

Up    came    the    ship   from   the    far-off  sea, 

And   on    with    the    strong  wind's    breath   rushed    we. 

She   grew    to    the    eye,   against    the    clouded    sky, 

And    eagerly   her   points   and    gear   we   guessed. 

As    we   made   her  out,   at   last, 

She   was   maimed   in   spar   and   mast 

And    she   hugged   the    easy   breeze   for   rest 

We    could   see    the   old    wind   fail 

At   the   nearing   of  our   gale  ; 

We  could  see  them  lay  their    course  with  the  wind : 

Still   we   neared   and   neared    her   fast, 

Hurled    on   by   our   fierce   blast, 

With   the   seas    tumbling    headlong   behind. 

She    had    come   out   of    some    storm,    and,    in    many 

a   busy    swarm, 

Her   crew    were   refitting,    as   they   might, 
The    wreck   of  upper    spars 
That   had    left   their   ugly   scars, 
8* 


118 

As    if  the    ship   had    come   out   of  a   fight. 

We    scanned   her    well,    as    we    drifted   by  : 

A   strange   old   ship,    with   her   poop    built   high, 

And   with   quarter-galleries    wide, 

And   a   huge   beaked   prow,   as  no  ships  are  builded 

now, 

And    carvings   all    strange,   beside. 
A   Byzantine   bark,   and   a   ship   of  name  and  mark 
Long   years   and   generations    ago ; 
Ere   any   mast   or   yard   of  ours    was   growing   hard 
"With   the    seasoning   of  long   Norwegian   snow. 
She   was   the   brave   old    Orient, 
The    old   imperial    Orient, 
Brought   down   from   times   afar 
Not   such    as    our   ships   are, 

But    unchanged   in   hull   and   unchanged   in    spar, 
Since   mighty   ships   of  war   were   builded   so. 

Down  her  old  black  side  poured  the  water  in  a  tide, 
As    they   toiled   to   get   the   better   of  a   leak  : 
We   had   got   a   signal   set   in   the    shrouds, 
And     our    men    through    the    storm    looked     on    in 
crowds  :  — 


THE    BRAVE    OLD    SHIP,   THE    ORIENT.          119 

But   for    wind,   we    were   near    enough    to    speak. 
It    seemed    her    sea    and   sky    were    in    times    long, 

long   gone    by, 

That   we    read   in    winter-evens    about  ; 
As   if  to    other   stars 
She    had   reared   her   old-world    spars, 
And    her   hull    had   kept   an    old-time   ocean    out. 
We    saw    no    signal   fly,    and    her    men    scarce    lifted 

eye, 

But   toiled   at    the    work   that   was    to    do  ; 
It    warmed   our   English   blood 
When   across    the    stormy   flood, 
We   saw   the   old   ship    and   her   crew. 
The    glories    and   the  memories  of  other   days  agone 
Seemed    clinging    to   the    old    ship,    as    in    storm    she 

labored   on. 

The    old    ship    Orient  I 
The    brave,    imperial    Orient  ! 

All  that  stormy  night  through,  our  ship  was  lying-to 
Whenever    we    could    keep    her   to    the    wind  ; 
But   late   in    the    next  day   we    gained    a    quiet   bay, 
For   the    tempest   had    left    us   far    behind. 


120          THE   BRAVE    OLD   SHIP,   THE   ORIENT. 

So   before   the    sunny   town 

Went   our   anchors    splashing   down  ; 

Our   sails    we    hung   all   out   to   the    sun  ; 

While   airs   from   off  the   steep 

Came   playing   at   bo-peep 

With    our   canvas,   hour   by    hour,    in   their  fun. 

We    leaned    on   boom   or  rail  with  many  a  lazy  tale 

Of  the   work   of  the    storm    that   had   died  ; 

And   watched,    with   idle    eyes, 

Our   floats,   like    summer   flies, 

Riding   lazily   about   the    ship's   side. 

Suddenly   they   cried,   from   the   other   deck, 

That   the    Orient   was   gone   to   wreck  ! 

That   her   hull   lay   high   on    a   broken    shore, 

And   the   brave   old   ship    would   float   no   more. 

But  we  heard  a  sadder  tale,  ere  the  night  came  on, 

And   a   truer   tale,    of  the    ship   that   was    gone. 

They   had   seen   from   the   height, 

As    she    came   from   yester-night, 

While  the  storm  had  not  gone  by,  and  the  sea  was 

running    high, 

A   ship   driving   heavily   to   land ; 
A   strange   great   ship,    (so   she   seemed   to   be 


THE    BRAVE    OLD    SHIP,    THE     ORIENT.       121 

While   she   tumbled   and   rolled   on   the   far-off  sea, 

And   strange    when    she    toiled,    near    at    hand,) 

But   some    ship    of  mark   and   fame, 

Though   crippled,    then,   and   lame, 

And   that   must   have   been   gallantly   manned. 

So   she   came,   driving    fast  ; 

They   could   tell   her   men,    at    last  ; 

There    were   harbors    down    the    coast    on    her   lee ; 

When,    strangely,    she    broached    to, — 

Then,    with   her   gallant    crew, 

Went    headlong    down    into    the    sea, 

That    was    the    Orient ; 

The   brave    old    Orient : 

Such    a    ship    as    never    more    will    be. 

1857   and   1860. 


05^  Any  Books  in  this  list  will  be  sent  free  of  postage,  on  receipt 
of  price. 


BOSTON,  135  WASHINGTON  STREET, 
MARCH,  1860. 

A   LIST   OF   BOOKS 

PUBLISHED    BY 

TICKNOR    AND    FIELDS. 


Sir  Walter  Scott. 

ILLUSTRATED  HOUSEHOLD  EDITION  OF  THE  WAVER- 
LEY  NOVELS.  ,  In  portable  size,  16mo.  form.  Now  Complete. 
Price  75  cents  a  volume. 

The  paper  is  of  fine  quality;  the  stereotype  plates  are  not  old 
ones  repaired,  the  type  having  been  cast  expressly  for  this  edi 
tion.  The  Novels  are  illustrated  with  capital  steel  plates  en 
graved  in  the  best  manner,  after  drawings  and  paintings  by  the 
most  eminent  artists,  among  whom  are  Birket  Foster,  Darley, 
Billings,  Landseer,  Harvey,  and  Faed.  This  Edition  contains' 
all  the  latest  notes  and  corrections  of  the  author,  a  Glossary  and 
Index ;  and  some  curious  additions,  especially  in  "  Guy  Man- 
nering"  and  the  "Bride  of  Lammermoor;"  being  the  fullest 
edition  of  the  Novels  ever  published.  The  notes  are  at  the  foot 
of  the  page,— a.  great  convenience  to  the  reader. 

Any  of  the  following  Novels  sold  separate. 

WAVERLEY.  2  vols.  ST.  RONAN'S  WELL,  2  vols. 

GUY  MANNERING.  2  vols.  REDGAUNTLET,  2  vols. 

THE  ANTIQUARY,  2  vols.  THE  BETROTHED,                ) 

ROB  ROY,  2  vols.  THE  HIGHLAND  WIDOW     f  2  vols- 

OLD  MORTALITY,  2  vols.  THE  TALISMAN,                           ) 

BLACK  DWARF,                )  „  Two  DROVERS, 

LEGEND  OF  MONTROSE,    }  *  ls"  MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR,  U  vols 

HEART  OF  MID  LOTHIAN.  2  vols.  THE  TAPESTRIED  CHAMBER        f 

BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR,  2  vols.    THE  LAIRD  s  JOCK. 

IVANHOE,  2  vols.  WOODSTOCK,  2  vols. 

THE  MONASTERY,  2  vols.  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  PERTH,  2  vols 

IHE  ABBOT,  2  vols.  ANNE  OF  GEIERSTEIN,  2  vols 

KENILWORTH,  2  vols.  COUNT  ROBERT  OF  PARIS,  2  vols 

THE  PIRATE,  2  vols.  THE  SURGEON'S  DAUGHTER 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  NIGEL.  2  vols.  CASTLE  DANGEROUS 
PEVERIL  OF  THE  PEAK,  2  vols.      INDEX  AND  GLOSSARY. 

QUENTIN   DURWARD,   2  VOls. 


2  Tola. 


2         A  Li§t  of  Books  Publifhed 
Thomas  De  Quincey. 

CONFESSIONS  OF  AN  ENGLISH  OPIUM-EATER,  AND  Sus- 

PIRIA  DE  PROFUNDIS.     With  Portrait.    75  cents. 
BIOGRAPHICAL  ESSAYS.     75  cents. 
MISCELLANEOUS  ESSAYS.     75  cents. 
THE  CAESARS.     75  cents. 
LITERARY  REMINISCENCES.     2  vols.    $1.50. 
NARRATIVE  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PAPERS.   2  vols.  $1.50. 
ESSAYS  ON  THE  POETS,  &c.     1  vol.    16mo.     75  cents. 
HISTORICAL  AND  CRITICAL  ESSAYS.     2  vols.    $1.50. 
AUTOBIOGRAPHIC  SKETCHES.     1  vol.     75  cents. 
ESSAYS  ON  PHILOSOPHICAL  WRITERS,  &c.    2  vols.  16mo. 

$1.50. 

LETTERS  TO  A  YOUNG  MAN,  and  other  Papers.     1  vol. 

75  cents. 
THEOLOGICAL   ESSAYS   AND    OTHER  PAPERS.      2   vols. 

$1.50. 

THE  NOTE  BOOK.     1  vol.  .  75  cents. 
MEMORIALS  AND  OTHER  PAPERS.     2  vols.  16mo.    $1.50. 
THE  AVENGER  AND  OTHER  PAPERS.     1  vol.     75  cents. 
LOGIC  OF  POLITICAL  ECONOMY,  and  other  Papers.     1  vol. 

75  cents. 

Alfred  Tennyson. 

POETICAL  WORKS.    With  Portrait.    2  vols.    Cloth.    $2.00. 

POCKET  EDITION  OF  POEMS  COMPLETE.     75  cents. 

THE  PRINCESS.     Cloth.    50  cents. 

IN  MEMORIAM.     Cloth.     75  cents. 

MAUD,  AND  OTHER  POEMS.     Cloth.     50  cents. 

IDYLS  OF  THE  KING.     A  new  volume.     Cloth.     75  cents. 

Barry  Cornwall. 

ENGLISH  SONGS  AND  OTHER  SMALL  POEMS.    $1.00. 
DRAMATIC  POEMS.    Just  published.    $1.00. 
ESSAYS  AND  TALES  IN  PROSE.    2  vols.    $1.50. 


by    TlCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  3 

Henry  W.  Longfellow. 

POETICAL  WORKS.    In  two  volumes.  16mo.  Boards.  $2.00. 
POCKET  EDITION  OF  POETICAL  WORKS.    In  two  volumes 

$1.75. 
POCKET  EDITION  OF  PROSE  WORKS  COMPLETE.    In  two 

volumes.     $1.75. 

THE  SONG  OF  HIAWATHA.    $1.00. 

EVANGELINE  :  A  TALE  OF  ACADIE.     75  cents. 

THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND.     A  POEM.    $1.00. 

HYPERION.     A  ROMANCE.    $1.00. 

OUTRE-MER.     A  PILGRIMAGE.    $1.00. 

KAVANAGH.     A  TALE.     75  cents. 

THE    COURTSHIP   OF    MILES   STANDISH.     1  vol.     16mo. 

75  cents. 

Illustrated  editions  of  EVANGELINE.  POEMS,  HYPERION, 
THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND,  and  MILES  STANDISH. 

Charles  Reade. 

PEG  WOFFINGTON.    A  NOVEL.     75  cents. 

CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE.     A  NOVEL.     75  cents. 

CLOUDS  AND  SUNSHINE.     A  NOVEL.     75  cents. 

4  NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.'     2  vols.     $1.50. 

WHITE  LIES.     A  NOVEL.     1  vol.     $1.25. 

PROPRIA  QU.E  MARIBUS  and  THE  Box  TUNNEL.     25  cts. 

William  Howitt. 

LAND,  LABOR,  AND  GOLD.     2  vols.    $2.00. 

A  BOY'S  ADVENTURES  IN  AUSTRALIA.     75  cents. 

James  Russell  Lowell. 

COMPLETE  POETICAL  WORKS.   In  Blue  and  Gold.   2  vols 

$1.50. 

POETICAL   WORKS.     2  vols.     16mo.     Cloth.     $1.50. 
SIR  LAUNFAL.    New  Edition.    25  cents. 
A  FABLE  FOR  CRITICS.    New  Edition.     50  cents. 
THE  BIGLOW  PAPERS.    A  New  Edition.     63  cents. 


4          A  Lift  of  Books  Publifhed 
Nathaniel  Hawthorne. 

TWICE-TOLD  TALES.     Two  volumes.    $1.50. 
THE  SCARLET  LETTER.     75  cents. 
THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES.    $1.00. 
THE    SNOW    IMAGE,  AND    OTHER  TALES.     75  cents. 
THE  BLITIIEDALE  ROMANCE.     75  cents. 

MOSSES    FROM    AN    OLD    MANSE.       2    Vols.       $1.50. 

TRANSFORMATION  ;  OR,  THE  ROMANCE  OF  MONTE  BENI. 

2  vols.     $1.50. 

TRUE  STORIES  FROM  HISTORY  AND  BIOGRAPHY.    With 

four  fine  Engravings.     75  cents. 
A  WONDER-BOOK  FOR  GIRLS  AND  BOYS.     With  seven 

fine  Engravings.     75  cents. 

TANGLEWOOD  TALES.     Another  « Wonder-Book."    With 
Engravings.     88  cents. 

Charles  Kingsley. 

Two  YEARS  AGO.     A  New  Novel.    $1.25. 

AMYAS  LEIGH.     A  Novel.     $1.25. 

GLAUCUS;  OR,  THE  WOADERS  OF  THE  SHORE.     50  cts. 

POETICAL  WORKS.     75  cents. 

THE  HEROES;  OR,  GREEK  FAIRY  TALES.     75  cents. 

ANDROMEDA  AND  OTHER  POEMS.    50  cents. 

SIR  WALTER  RALEIGH  AND  HIS  TIME,  &c.    $1.25. 

NEW  MISCELLANIES.     1  vol.     $1  00. 

Coventry  Patmore. 

THE  ANGEL  IN  THE  HOUSE.    BETROTHAL. 

44        (t  «  «  ESPOUSALS.     75  cts.  each. 

George  S.   Hillard. 

Six  MONTHS  IN  ITALY.     1  vol.     16mo.     $1.50. 

DANGERS  AND  DUTIES  OF  THE  MERCANTILE  PROFES 
SION.  25  cents. 

SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF  WALTER  SAVAGE 
LANDOR.  1  vol.  16mo.  75  cents. 


by    TlCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  5 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 

POEMS.   With  fine  Portrait.    Boards.    $1.00.    Cloth.   $1.12. 

ASTHMA.     Fancy  paper.     25  cents. 

THE  AUTOCRAT  OF  THE  BREAKFAST  TABLE.  With  Il 
lustrations  by  Hoppin.  16mo.  $1.00. 

The  Same.    Large  Paper  Edition.  8vo.  Tinted  paper.  $3.00. 

THE  PROFESSOR  AT  THE  BREAKFAST  TABLE.  IGrno 
$1.00. 

The  Same.  Large  Paper  Edition.  8vo.  Tinted  paper.  $3.00. 

Charles  Sumner. 

ORATIONS  AND  SPEECHES.     2  vols.    $2.50. 
RECENT  SPEECHES  AND  ADDRESSES.    $1.25. 

John  G.   Whittier. 

POCKET  EDITION  OF  POETICAL  WORKS.    2  vols.     $1  50. 

OLD  PORTRAITS  AND  MODERN  SKETCHES.     75  cents. 

MARGARET  SMITH'S  JOURNAL.     75  cents. 

SONGS  OF  LABOR,  AND  OTHER  POEMS.    Boards.    50  cte. 

THE  CHAPEL  OF  THE  HERMITS.     Cloth.     50  cents. 

LITERARY  RECREATIONS,  &c.     Cloth.     $1.00. 

THE  PANORAMA,  AND  OTHER  POEMS.     Cloth.     50  cents. 

Alexander  Smith. 

A  LIFE  DRAMA.     1  vol.     16mo.     50  cents. 

CITY  POEMS.     With  Portrait.     1  vol.     16mo.     63  cents. 

Bayard  Taylor. 

POEMS  OF  HOME  AND  TRAVEL.     Cloth.     75  cents. 
POEMS  OF  THE  ORIENT.     Cloth.     75  cents. 

Edwin   P.  Whipple. 

ESSAYS  AND  REVIEWS.     2  vols.     $2.00. 
LECTURES  ON  LITERATURE  AND  LIFE.     63  cents. 
WASHINGTON  AND  THE  REVOLUTION.     20  cents. 


6         A  Lia  of  Books  Publifhed 


Robert  Browning. 

POETICAL  WORKS.     2  vols.    $2.00. 
MEN  AND  WOMEN.     1  vol.    Si.  00. 

Henry  Giles. 

LECTURES,  ESSAYS,  &c.    2  vols.    $1.50. 
DISCOURSES  ON  LIFE.     75  cents.       ' 
ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  GENIUS.     Cloth.    $1.00. 

William  Motherwell. 

COMPLETE  POETICAL  WORKS.    In  Blue  and  Gold.    1  vol. 

75  cents. 
MINSTRELSY,  ANC.  AND  MOD.    2  vols.    Boards.    $1.50. 

Capt.  Mayne  Reid. 

THE  PLANT  HUNTERS.     With  Plates.     75  cents. 

THE  DESERT  HOME  :  OR,  THE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  LOST 

FAMILY  IN  THE  WILDEKNESS.     With  fine  Plates.    $1.00. 
THE  BOY  HUNTERS.    With  fine  Plates.     75  cents. 
THE  YOUNG  VOYAGEURS  :   OR,  THE  BOY  HUNTERS  IN 

THE  NOHTH.     With  Plates.    75  cents. 
THE  FOREST  EXILES-    With  fine  Plates.     75  cents. 
THE  BUSH  BOYS.     With  fine  Plates.     75  cents. 
THE  YOUNG  YAGERS.     With  fine  Plates.     75  cents. 
RAN  AWAY  TO  SEA  :   AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  FOR  BOYS. 

With  fine  Plates.     75  cents. 
THE   BOY    TAR:    A  VOYAGE  IN  THE   DARK.     A  New 

Book.     With  fine  Plates.     75  cents. 

Goethe. 

WILHELM    MEISTER.      Translated    by    Carlyle.     2  vols. 

$2.50. 

FAUST.    Translated  by  Hayward.     75  cents. 
FAUST.     Translated  by  Charles  T.  Brooks.    $1.00. 
CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  A  CHILD.    Bettina.    1  vol.    12mo. 

$1.25. 


by    TlCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  '/ 

Rev.  Charles  Lowell. 

PRACTICAL  SERMONS.     1  vol.     12mo.    $1.25. 
OCCASIONAL  SERMONS.    With  fine  Portrait.    $1.25. 

Rev.  F.  W.  Robertson. 

SERMONS.     First  Series.    $1.00. 

"  Second    "         $1.00. 

"  Third       "         $1.00. 

"  Fourth     "         $1.00. 

LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES  ON  LITERARY  AND  SOCIAL 

TOPICS.    $1.00. 

R.  H.  Stoddard. 

POEMS.     Cloth.     63  cents. 

ADVENTURES  IN  FAIRY  LAND.     75  cents. 

SONGS  OF  SUMMER.     75  cents. 

George  Lunt. 

LYRIC  POEMS,  &c.     Cloth.     63  cents. 

JULIA.     A  Poem.     50  cents. 

THREE  ERAS  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.    $1.00. 

Philip  James  Bailey. 

THE  MYSTIC,  AND  OTHER  POEMS.    50  cents. 
THE  ANGEL  WORLD,  &c.     50  cents. 
THE  AGE,  A  SATIRE.     75  cents. 

Anna  Mary  Howitt. 

AN  ART  STUDENT  IN  MUNICH.    $1.25. 
A  SCHOOL  OF  LIFE.     A  Story.     75  cents. 

Mary  Russell  Mitford. 

OUR  VILLAGE.     Illustrated.     2  vols.     16mo.    $2.50. 
ATHERTON,  AND  OTHER  STORIES.     1  vol.     16mo.     $1.25. 


8         A  Li£t  of  Books  Publifhed 
Josiah  Phillips  Quincy. 

LYTERIA  :  A  DRAMATIC  POEM.    50  cents. 
CHARICLES  :  A  DRAMATIC  POEM.    50  cents. 

Grace  Greenwood. 

GREENWOOD  LEAVES.  1st  and  2d  Series.     $1.25  each. 

POETICAL  WORKS.     With  fine  Portrait.     75  cents. 

HISTORY  OF  MY  PETS.  With  six  fine  Engravings.  Scarlet 
cloth.  50  cents. 

RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY  CHILDHOOD.  With  six  fine  En 
gravings.  Scarlet  cloth.  50  cents. 

HAPS  AND  MISHAPS  OF  A  TOUR  IN  EUROPE.    $1.25. 

MERRIE  ENGLAND.     75  cents. 

A  FOREST  TRAGEDY,  AND  OTHER  TALES.    $1.00. 

STORIES  AND  LEGENDS.     75  cents. 

STORIES  FROM  FAMOUS  BALLADS.    Illustrated.    50  cents. 

Mrs.  Crosland. 

LYDIA  :  A  WOMAN'S  BOOK.     Cloth.     75  cents. 
ENGLISH  TALES  AND  SKETCHES.  *  Cloth.    $1.00. 
MEMORABLE  WOMEN.    Illustrated.    $1.00. 

Mrs.  Jameson. 

CHARACTERISTICS  OF  WOMEN.  Blue  and  Gold.  75  cents. 

LOVES  OF  THE  POETS.  "  "  75  cents. 

DIARY  OF  AN  EMNUYEE  "  "  75  cents. 

SKETCHES  OF  ART,  &c.  "  "  75  cents. 

STUDIES  AND  STORIES.  "  "  75  cents. 

ITALIAN  PAINTERS.  "  "  75  cents. 

Mrs.  Mowatt. 

AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  AN  ACTRESS.    $1.25. 
PLAYS.    ARMAND  AND  FASHION.    50  cents. 
MIMIC  LIFE.     1  vol.    $1.25. 
THE  TWIN  ROSES.    1  vol.     75  cents. 


by    TlCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  9 

Mrs.   Howe. 

PASSION  FLOWERS.     75  cents. 

WORDS  FOR  THJC  HOUR.     75  cents. 

THE  WORLD'S  OWN.     50  cents. 

A  TRIP  TO  CUBA.     1  vol.     16mo.     75  cents. 

Alice  Gary. 

POEMS.     1  vol.     16mo.     $1.00. 

CLOVERNOOK  CHILDREN.     With  Plates.     75  cents. 

Mrs.  Eliza  B.  Lee. 

MEMOIR  OF  THE  BUCKMINSTERS.     $1.25. 
FLORENCE,  THE  PARISH  ORPHAN.     50  cents. 
PARTHENIA.     1  vol.     16  mo.     $1.00. 

Samuel  Smiles. 

LIFE  OF  GEORGE   STEPHENSON  :   ENGINEER.     $1.00. 
SELF  HELP  ;  WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  CHARACTER  AND 
CONDUCT.     1  vol.     75  cents. 

Blanchard  Jerrold. 

DOUGLAS  JERROLD'S  WIT.     75  cents. 

LIFE  AND  LETTERS  OF  DOUGLAS  JERROLD.    $1.00. 

Trelawny. 

RECOLLECTIONS  OF  SHELLEY  AND  BYRON.     75  cents. 

Charles  Sprague. 

POETICAL   AND  PROSE  WRITINGS.     With  fine  Portrait. 
Boards.     75  cents. 

Mrs.  Lawrence. 

LIGHT   ON   THE   DARK  RIVER  :  OR  MEMOIRS  OF  MRS. 
HAMLIN.    1  vol.    16mo.     Cloth.    $1.00 


10       A  Lift  of  Books  Publifhed 
Mrs.  Judson. 

ALDERBROOK.     By  Fanny  Forrester.     2  vols.     $1.75. 
THE  KATHAYAN  SLAVE,  AND   OTHER  PAPERS.     1  vol. 

63  cents. 
MY  Two  SISTERS  :  A  SKETCH  FROM  MEMORY.     50  cents. 

G.  A.  Sala. 

A  JOURNEY  DUE  NORTH.     $1.00. 

Thomas  W.  Parsons. 

POEMS.    $1.00. 

John  G.  Saxe. 

POEMS.   With  Portrait.    Boards.    63  cents.    Cloth.    75  cents. 
THE  MONEY  KING,  AND  OTHER  POEMS.     1  vol.     75  cents 

Charles  T.  Brooks. 

GERMAN  LYRICS.   Translated.   1  vol.    16mo.  Cloth.  $1.00. 

Tom  Brown. 

SCHOOL  DAYS  AT  RUGBY.   By  An  Old  Boy.   1  vol.   16mo. 

$1.00. 

The  Same.     Illustrated  edition.     $1.50. 
THE  SCOURING  OF  THE  WHITE  HORSE,  OR  THE  LONG 

VACATION  HOLIDAY  OF  A  LONDON  CLERK.     By  The  Author 

of  '  School  Days  at  Riiffby.'     1  vol.     16mo.     $1.00. 
TOM  BROWN  AT  OXFORD.     A  Sequel  to  School  Days  at 

Rugby.    Parts  I  to  IV.     12  cents  each. 

Leigh  Hunt. 

POEMS.     Blue  and  Gold.     2  vols.     $1.50. 

Gerald  Massey. 

POETICAL  WORKS.     Blue  and  Gold.     75  cents. 


by    TlCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  11 


C.  W.  Upham. 

JOHN  C.  FREMONT'S  LIFE,  EXPLORATIONS,  &c.    With  Il 
lustrations.    75  cents. 

W.  M.  Thackeray. 

BALLADS.     1  vol.     16mo.     75  cents. 

Charles  Mackay. 

POEMS.     1  vol.     Cloth.     $1.00. 

George  H.  Boker. 

PLAYS  AND  POEMS.     2  vols.    $2.00. 

Matthew  Arnold. 

POEMS.     75  cents. 

Henry  T.  Tuckerman. 

POEMS.     Cloth.     75  cents. 

James  G.  Percival. 

POETICAL  WORKS.     2  vols.     Blue  and  Gold.     $1.75. 

Paul  H.  Hayne. 

POEMS.     1  vol.     16mo.     63  cents. 

AVOLIO,  A  LEGEND  OF  THE  ISLAND  OF  Cos ;  AND  OTHER 
POEMS.     1  vol.     75  cents. 

Mrs.  A.  C.  Lowell. 

SEED-GRAIN  FOR  THOUGHT  AND  DISCUSSION.     2  vols. 

$1.75. 
EDUCATION  OF  GIRLS.     25  cents. 


12       A  Lift  of  Books  Publifhed 
G.  H.  Lewes. 

THE  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF  GOETHE.   2  vols.   16mo.  $2.50. 

Washington  Allston. 

MONALDI,  A  TALE.     1  vol.     16mo.     75  cents. 

Arthur  P.  Stanley. 

LIFE  AND  CORRESPONDENCE  OF  DR.  ARNOLD.     2  vols. 

$2.00. 

Henry  Kingsley. 

RECOLLECTIONS  OF  GEOFFRY  HAMLYN.  A  Novel.  $1.25. 

Dr.  John  C.  Warren. 

THE  PRESERVATION  OF  HEALTH,  &c.     1  vol.     38  cents. 
LIFE.     By  Edward  Warren,  M.  D.     Compiled  chiefly  from 

his  Private  Journals.     2  vols.     8vo.     $3.50. 

Joseph  T.  Buckingham. 

PERSONAL  MEMOIRS  AND  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  EDITO 
RIAL  LIFE.  With  Portrait.  2  vols.  16mo.  $1.50. 

Theophilus    Parsons . 

A  MEMOIR  OF  CHIEF  JUSTICE  THEOPHILUS  PARSONS, 
WITH  NOTICES  OF  SOME  OF  HIS  CONTEMPORARIES.  By  his 
Son.  With  Portrait.  1  vol.  12mo.  $1.50. 

Goldsmith. 

THE  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.    Illustrated  Edition.    $3.00. 

Horace  Mann. 

THOUGHTS  FOR  A  YOUNG  MAN.    25  cents. 


by    TlCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  13 

Dr.  William  E.  Coale. 

HINTS  ON  HEALTH.     3d  Edition.     63  cents. 

Lord   Dufferin. 

A  YACHT  VOYAGE  OF  6,000  MILES.    $1.00. 

Fanny  Kemble. 

POEMS.     Enlarged  Edition.    $1.00. 

Owen  Meredith. 

POETICAL  WORKS.     Blue  and  Gold.     75  cents. 

Arago. 

BIOGRAPHIES     OF     DISTINGUISHED    SCIENTIFIC    MEN. 

16mo.     2  vols.     $2.00. 

R.  H.  Dana,  Jr. 

To  CUBA  AND  BACK,  a  Vacation  Voyage,  by  the  Author  of 

"  Two  Years  before  the  Mast."     75  cents. 

John    Neal. 

TRUE  WOMANHOOD.     A  Novel.     1  vol.    $1.25. 

Julia  Kavanagh. 

SEVEN  YEARS.    A  VOLUME  OF  STORIES.    8vo.    Paper. 
30  cents. 

G.  J.  Whyte  Melville. 

HOLMBY  HOUSE  :    A  TALE  OF  OLD  NORTHAMPTONSHIRE. 

8vo.    Paper. 


14       A  Lift  of  Books  Publifhed 
Captain    McClintock . 

NARRATIVE  OF  THE  VOYAGE  IN  SEARCH  OF  SIR  JOHN 
FRANKLIN  AND  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  HIS  REMAINS.  With 
Maps  and  Illustrations.  1  vol.  large  12mo.  $1.50. 

'Charles    Eliot   Norton. 

NOTES  OF  TRAVEL  AND  STUDY  IN  ITALY.     1  vol.     16mo. 

$1.00.     Just  ready. 


POEMS.  By  Miss  Muloch,  Author  of  «  John  Halifax,"  &c. 
1  vol.  75  cents. 

POEMS.    By  Sydney  Dobell.    1  vol.    Blue  and  Gold.    75  cts. 

ARABIAN  DAYS'  ENTERTAINMENTS.  Translated  from  the 
German  of  W.  Hauff.  By  H.  Pelham  Curtis.  With  Illustra 
tions  by  Hoppin.  1  vol.  $1.25. 

HYMNS  OF  THE  AGES.  With  a  Preface  by  Rev.  F.  D. 
Huntington,  D.  D.  1  vol.  12mo.  $1.00. 

Also  a  fine  Edition,  on  large  paper.  8vo.  Bevelled  boards. 
$3.00, 

THE  CRUSADES  AND  THE  CRUSADERS.  By  J.  G.  Edgar. 
With  Illustrations.  75  cents. 

ERNEST  BRACEBRIDGE  ;  OR,  SCHOOLBOY  DAYS.  By  W. 
H.  G.  Kingston.  With  Illustrations.  75  cents. 

POEMS.     By  Henry  Timrod.     1  vol.     16mo.     50  cents. 

SWORD  AND  GOWN.  By  the  Author  of  "  Guy  Living 
stone."  1  vol.  75  cents. 

ALMOST  A  HEROINE.  By  the  Author  of  "  Charles  Au- 
chester,"  and  "  Counterparts."  1  vol.  $1.00. 

TWELVE  YEARS  OF  A  SOLDIER'S  LIFE  :  A  MEMOIR  OF 
THE  LATE  MAJOR  W.  S.  E.  HODSON,  B.  A.  Edited  by  his 
Brother,  Kev.  George  H.  Hodson.  1  vol.  $1.00. 

RAB  AND  HIS  FRIENDS.    By  John  Brown,  M.  D.   15  cents. 

THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.     1  vol. 

16mo.     $1.00. 

ERNEST  CARROLL,  OR  ARTIST  LIFE  IN  ITALY.      1  vol. 

IGmo.     88  cents. 
CHRISTMAS  HOURS.     By  the  Author  of  "  The  Homeward 

Path,"  &c.     1  vol.    16mo.     50  cents. 
MEMORY  AND  HOPE.    Cloth.    $2.00. 


by    TlCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  15 

THALATTA  ;  A  BOOK  FOR  THE  SEASIDE.     75  cents. 

REJECTED  ADDRESSES.    A  new  edition.    Cloth.    75  cents. 

WARRENIANA  ;  A  COMPANION  TO  REJECTED  AD 
DRESSES.  63  cents. 

ANGEL  VOICES.    38  cents. 

THE  BOSTON  BOOK.     $1.25. 

'MEMOIR  OF  ROBERT  WHEATON.     1  vol.     $1.00. 

LABOR  AND  LOVE  :  A  TALE  OF  ENGLISH  LIFE.    50  cts. 

THE  SOLITARY  OF  JUAN  FERNANDEZ.  By  the  Author 
of  Picciola.  50  cents. 

WALDEN  :  OR,  LIFE  IN  THE  WOODS.  By  Henry  D.  Tho- 
reau.  1  vol.  IGmo.  $1.00. 

VILLAGE  LIFE  IN  EGYPT.  By  Bayle  St.  John,  the  Author 
of  "  Purple  Tints  of  Paris."  2  vols.  16mo.  $1.25. 

WENSLEY  :  A  STORY  WITHOUT  A  MORAL.  By  Edmund 
Quiricy.  75  cents. 

PALISSY  THE  POTTER.    By  Henry  Morley.    2  vols.    I6mo. 

$1.50. 

THE  BARCLAYS  OF  BOSTON.     By  Mrs.  H.  G.  Otis.     1  vol. 

12mo.     $1.25. 
SIR    ROGER    DE    COVERLEY.      By  Addison.     From    the 

"  Spectator."     75  cents. 
SERMONS  OF   CONSOLATION.     By  F.  W.  P.  Greenwood. 

$1.00. 

SPAIN,  HER  INSTITUTIONS,  POLITICS,  AND  PUBLIC  MEN. 

By  S.  T.  Wallis.     $1.00. 
POEMS.     By  Henry  Alford.     $1.25. 
ESSAYS   ON   THE   FORMATION   OF   OPINIONS   AND   THE 

PURSUIT  OF  TRUTH.    By  Samuel  Bailey.    1  vol.    16mo.    $1.00. 
POEMS  OF  MANY  YEARS.     By  Richard  Monckton  Milnes. 

Boards.     75  cents. 

BoTHWELL.     By  W.  Edmondstonne  Aytoun.     75  cents. 
POEMS.     By  Mrs.  Rosa  V.  Johnson.     1vol.     16mo.    $1.00. 
THORPE  :  A  QUIET  ENGLISH  TOWN,  AND  HUMAN  LIFE 

THEREIN.     By  William  Mountford.     IGmo.     $1.00 
MATINS    AND  VESPERS.     By   John   Bowring.     Blue   and 

Gold.    75  cents. 

OAKFIELD.     A  Novel.     By  Lieut.  Arnold.     $1.00. 
LECTURES  ON  ORATORY  AND  RHETORIC.     By  Prof.  E. 

T.  Channing.    75  cents. 


16       A  Lia  of  Books  Publifhed. 

A  PHYSICIAN'S  VACATION.      By  Dr.  Walter   Charming. 

$1.50. 

A  PHYSIOLOGICAL    COOKERY   BOOK.     By  Mrs.  Horace 

Manri.     63  cents. 

WILLIAM  WORDSWORTH'S  BIOGRAPHY.    By  Christopher 

Wosrdworth.     2  vols.     $2.50. 

NOTES  FROM  LIFE.  By  the  Author  of  "  Philip  Van  Arte- 
velde."  1  vol.  16mo.  Cloth.  63  cents. 

ART  OF  PROLONGING  LIFE.  By  Hufeland.  Edited  by 
Erasmus  Wilson.  1  vol.  16mo.  75  cents. 

SHELLEY  MEMORIALS.  From  Authentic  Sources.  1  vol« 
Cloth.  75  cents. 

POEMS  AND  PARODIES.     By  Phoebe  Gary.     75  cents. 

LIFE  OF  EDMUND  BURKE.    By  James  Prior.  2  vols.  $2.00. 

CHURCH  AND  CONGREGATION.     By  C.  A.  Bartol.    $1.00. 

THORNDALE,  OR  THE  CONFLICT  OF  OPINIONS.  By  Wil 
liam  Smith.  $1.25. 

In  Blue  and  Gold. 

LONGFELLOW'S  POETICAL  WORKS.     2  vols.    $1.75. 

do.  PROSE  WORKS.     2  vols.     $1.75. 

TENNYSON'S  POETICAL  WORKS.     1  vol.     75  cents. 
WHITTIER'S  POETICAL  WORKS.     2  vols.     $1.50. 
LEIGH  HUNT'S  POETICAL  WORKS.     2  vols.    $1.50. 
GERALD  MASSEY'S  POETICAL  WORKS.     1  vol.    75  cents. 
MRS.  JAMESON'S  CHARACTERISTICS  OF  WOMEN.    75  cts. 

do.  DIARY  OF  AN  ENNUYEB.    l  vol.  75  cts. 

do.  LOVES  OF  THE  POETS.     1  vol.     75  cts. 

do.  SKETCHES  OF  ART,  &c.     1  vol.     75  cts. 

do.  STUDIES  AND  STORIES.     1  vol.     75  cts. 

do.  ITALIAN  PAINTERS.     1  vol.     75  cents. 

OWEN  MEREDITH'S  POEMS.     1  vol.     75  cents. 
BOWRING'S  MATINS  AND  VESPERS.     1  vol.     75  cents. 
LOWELL'S  (J.  RUSSELL)  POETICAL  WORKS.  2  vols.  $1.50. 
PERCIVAL'S  POETICAL  WORKS.     2  vols.    $1.75. 
MOTHERWELL'S  POEMS.     1  vol.     75  cents. 
SYDNEY  DOBELL'S  POEMS.     1  vol.     75  cents. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWE1 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  rec 


LD  2lA-60m-10,'65 
(F7763slO)476B 


General  Library     > 
University  of  California 
Berkeley 


YB   13533 


